


Take The First Option

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Canon Disabled Character, Christmas, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hanukkah, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Sex, Slow Burn, Thanksgiving, Violence, Whump, also sex, and my own personal headcanons and desires, comic!canon, descriptions of violence, directly follows xmfc, in which Erik is given a choice and chooses correctly for once, please, round of applause, self-gratification, this story is a blend of movie!canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 54,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Erik becomes unbalanced, Emma presents him with three options: go back to Charles for three months and learn to deal with whatever he has going have going on, lose his Brotherhood, or let Emma control his mind.</p><p>He really only has one choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just In Case, I Mean

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows movie!canon, comic!canon, and my own personal headcanons. The canon divergence comes in when Erik returns. You can see the blend of movie-, comic-, and head-canon pretty clearly. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.

Charles wheeled himself back towards the door to the mansion where Sean, Alex, and Hank were waiting gravely for him. Sean shuffled nervously.

“Did you do it?” Sean asked. Charles nodded once, and Sean took off like a shot, all tensely-coiled muscle waiting to snap. He took a glassy-eyed Moira by the hand and led her to the waiting car. She watched him blankly as he helped her into the passenger seat, then climbed into the driver’s seat himself. Alex half-waved at the departing car before Hank stole his attention.

“Help me, Alex,” Hank said, his growl of a voice pitched lower than usual. Alex snapped to attention, grabbing the left wheel and left handle of Charles’ chair while Hank lifted the right side. Charles laid his hand on Alex’s forearm.

_Thank you,_ Charles’ voice echoed in their heads.

“No problem, Professor,” Hank answered gruffly, moving in tandem with Alex to take Charles up the four steps into the mansion.

“I’ll finish your ramp today,” Alex assured him as they set him in the doorway. “It’s made of wood. Hank buffed up some industrial wood glue for us, so there’s no nails or screws or anything. I mean, we probably don’t need to, but… Just in case, I mean.”

“Thank you,” Charles repeated, out loud this time. “Both of you. You’ve been…”

When Charles trailed off, Hank picked up the thread for him, filling the silence that Sean usually took care of for them. “We know, Professor. Thanks.”

Silence fell again. Charles caught the edges of anxiety and unease from the boys’ minds, even as he maintained the walls that kept him from fully entering their minds without permission. Their emotions were fierce, projecting outwards without their conscious decision. Hank broke the silence again.

“Moira brought the blueprints for Cerebro,” Hank informed Charles, slowly, cautiously. “I should start going over them, make some adjustments so we can get started as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Hank.” Charles clasped Hank’s furry hand in both of his, white encircling indigo. “Go get some work done. Dinner’s at six.”

“Won’t Erik-” Alex began, before catching himself and snapping his mouth shut.

“Why don’t you go train downstairs for a bit, Alex?” Charles suggested quietly. Without another word, Alex turned and left, just slow enough to not be called “fleeing”. Hank wrung his hands.

“I’m going to go down to the lab,” Hank said, leaving Charles waiting in the threshold for Sean to come home. The sun set.


	2. Don't Worry 'Bout A Thing

Sean returned home at five forty-five, eager for dinner. Hank had taken a break to make spaghetti, taking Erik’s night to cook without discussion. Dinner was eaten in relative silence. Hank continued making notes on his blueprints through dinner, one hand holding a fork and the other hand holding a pen. Sean and Alex avoided Charles’ gaze and each other’s. Alex cleared the dishes, and Sean caught Charles before anyone could leave. Hank walked out distractedly, clutching his notes and nearly bumping into the wall. Charles quickly flicked his fingers to his temple and mentally helped Hank move over a step to save him from the inevitable headache.

“Hey, Professor,” Sean began hesitantly. “Hank just- he fixed our suits, and I was wondering- Can I train?”

“Of course, Sean,” Charles answered, surprised. “Go get your suit from Hank. I’ll spot you.”

Sean grinned, the first real smile from him since Cuba, and ran from the kitchen, speeding past Alex, who just stared after him with a sort of mature amusement. Charles caught the barest edge of contentment in Alex’s mind, and he smiled.

“We’re going to be alright, Alex,” Charles said softly. Alex’s attention snapped to Charles. Alex nodded, once the words sank in. Charles left him to his dishes and his thoughts, and wheeled himself out the kitchen door into the backyard to wait for Sean.

Sean arrived only minutes later, sprinting out the kitchen door, a blur of yellow and blue as he raced past Charles. He skidded to a halt a few yards in front of Charles, spun around, and, finally locating Charles, jogged back to his side.

“I don’t have anything to jump off of,” Sean suddenly realized, looking over his shoulder at the trees on the grounds, the satellite on the other side of the mansion. Charles held back a smile.

“I can push you out of a window, if you’d like,” Charles suggested lightly. His mind was suddenly assaulted with both his and Sean’s memories, the same scenes from different perspectives, Erik laughing as Sean fell out the window, Erik’s hand on Sean’s back as he pushed him off the satellite-

“Or maybe,” Sean said, interrupting the barrage of memories and drawing Charles out of their minds, “I can just climb a tree. Jump from there.”

“We can try training you to begin on the ground,” Charles offered. “It’s a skill you should learn anyways, in case you need to make a quick getaway.”

Sean nodded and sprinted away from the professor, settling at a reassuring distance. He looked down at the ground and screamed. The kitchen window shattered, drawing a curse from Alex. Sean grinned, half-sheepish and half-mischievous. Charles’ words earlier echoed in his own mind.

_We’re going to be alright._


	3. Magneto & Mystique

Nearly a year later found Charles in his study, writing careful letters to old family lawyers to speak with them about papers regarding the school, now that it was officially founded in the eyes of the government. He could feel Hank’s mind as the young man raced to Charles’ study, even before he arrived, knocking harshly on the door.

“Come in,” Charles called, shuffling his papers into a stack and placing his pen back into the inkwell. Hank burst into the study, a piece of thick paper clenched and wrinkled in his furry fist.

“I got a letter from Raven,” Hank exclaimed, breathless with shock and excitement rather than exertion. Charles frowned and withdrew from his desk, wheeling around it and stopping in front of Hank. Hank passed the letter over. Charles accepted it and read it through out loud.

“‘Dear Beast,’” Charles began. “‘Magneto,’” and Charles paused on the name, swallowing thickly before starting over and continuing. “‘Magneto asked me not to write, but he doesn’t know. I’m just going to ask Azazel to bring this to the post office for me. I miss you. A lot. I mean, I know we didn’t really part on the best of terms, but I still miss you, and I want to make it better. I’d love it if you wrote me back, ~~Hank~~ Beast. Please. Tell my brother hello, and wish him well for me. Love, Mystique.’” Charles took a deep breath and handed the letter back to Hank.

“What do you think?” Hank asked anxiously. Charles looked up at him, puzzled.

“What do I think of what, Hank?” Charles backed up a bit, then locked his wheels.

“Do you think it’s a trap?” Hank clarified. Charles turned his attention to the letter in Hank’s hand.

“I trust Raven,” Charles said quietly. “I do. And perhaps… perhaps I shouldn’t. If you want to write her a letter in reply, Hank, by all means. I trust her, perhaps unjustly, but I do.”

“So do I,” Hank agreed. He, too, looked down at the letter. “I’m going to write her back.”

“Tell her I’m well, and I say hello to her,” Charles instructed. Hank smiled tentatively, said a goodbye, and left the study. Charles unlocked his wheels and rolled himself to the window. He stared out over the grounds, at Sean screaming at the ground and falling from low tree branches, at Alex laughing and snapping pictures with his tremendous bulk of a camera, at Hank running full-speed across the grass to them and thrusting the letter into Alex’s hands. Ororo was laughing, clapping her hands at Sean while Scott chased Jean in circles. Sean fell from the branch he was perched on, and swiftly moved to Alex’s side, reading the letter over his shoulder. He grinned, and clapped Hank on the shoulder. Alex passed the letter back. Charles smiled and rolled backwards, heading for the kitchen to start dinner.


	4. The Three Options

_Professor!_ a voice shouted sharply in Charles’ head, jolting him awake. He recognized it as Sean’s, and he sat straight up in bed, immediately seeking out the minds of the boys in the house. Hank’s was still asleep, and he was in the lab; Alex’s was startled, and he was running down the stairs to the first floor; Sean’s was panicked, and he was in the kitchen. Charles threw his awareness out, waking Hank up and informing him and Alex that they were needed in the kitchen; he fluttered on the edge of the consciousness of Jean, Scott, and Ororo, pleased to find that they were still asleep, then filled Sean’s mind. What he saw there caused him to jerk out of Sean’s mind back into his own. He transferred himself from his bed to his wheelchair as quickly as he could, forgoing his clothes and ignoring the sharp chill of the chair against his bare skin as he rolled out of his bedroom in his boxers and wife-beater.

 _Sean, I’m coming,_ Charles whispered into Sean’s mind. _Be quiet. Be smart. Don’t challenge him._

_But Professor-_

_Sean,_ Charles interrupted the thought sharply. _Don’t challenge him. He’s looking for a fight._

Sean did not answer, his thoughts instead taking on a ragged edge of fear. Charles sped up and nearly crashed into Hank as he emerged from the lab, the fur on the left side of his head matted. Hank grabbed the handles of Charles’ wheelchair and sprinted with him towards the kitchen. Charles gripped the arms of the chair and projected as much outward calm as he could until they reached the kitchen and there found Sean staring silently at Erik, Emma Frost, Raven, Angel, Janos, and Azazel. Azazel’s tail flicked lazily through the air. Charles’ heart leapt into his throat, then dropped into the pit of his stomach as he took in Erik’s helmet. The blank space and the silence where Erik stood was deafening and painful. Charles let his mind bathe in the familiar warmth of Raven’s mind instead, even as Hank nearly choked on his own tongue and Alex smashed into the doorframe.

“Charles,” Erik said, his voice as close to trembling as Erik’s ever got, and Charles let himself look at the man again. Alex stepped forwards, towards Sean, and knelt down. Charles could tell his attention was focused on Erik, even as he picked up the pieces of broken glass from the milk bottle Sean dropped in his shock. Sean only just seemed to notice it was there, and Charles looked to him to realize that his neck was marked.

“What did you do?” Charles demanded, his head snapping back to look at Erik. “Did you try to _choke Sean_?”

Erik just stared at Charles in blank shock. Charles reached out to Janos’ and Azazel’s minds and froze the men in place. Erik blinked and came back to himself. Emma, in her diamond form, shifted; her faceted face was arranged into a carefully bored expression.

“Release him, Charles,” Erik commanded. Charles, his fingers at his temple, forced Azazel and Janos to turn towards Erik.

“You don’t touch my boys, Erik,” Charles nearly growled. Hank snarled, baring his teeth. Raven looked frightened for a moment before letting her face go stony.

“He moved to attack Emma,” Erik defended sharply. Charles frowned.

“Emma can defend herself without your choking a young man,” Charles snapped. The metal appliances started to rattle. “Leave my house.”

“I came for a reason,” Erik stated firmly. Charles’ eyes flicked over to Azazel, then to Janos, and Erik caught the movements and snapped into action. A blur of activity followed, Erik shooting forward to avoid Hank’s grasp and send a toaster flying at Alex. Alex shook with the effort of not blowing the kitchen apart as he ducked under the flying appliances. Sean gripped the handle of the refrigerator and screamed, shattering the remaining kitchen windows. Raven leapt into the air and attacked Alex, tackling him to the ground and darting out of the reach of his hands. Charles kept his powers carefully locked on Azazel and Janos, and deflected Emma’s attacks on his mind. Sean screamed again, an ear-piercing shriek that made Raven and Erik both gasp out loud, and Sean shot forward, snatching Erik’s helmet from his head. Charles scrambled and froze everyone in place, save Emma in her diamond form.

“Professor Xavier,” Emma greeted, taking a seat in the one kitchen chair that had not been knocked over in the brief fight.

“Miss Frost,” Charles replied, two fingers still locked on his temple as he kept everyone still, their minds blank. “Care to explain the reason behind your visit?”

“Mystique got the Beast’s letter,” Emma explained, examining her diamond nails. “Erik took it from her and realized you were here at the mansion. That’s the whole story, really. He made us get dressed, and here we are. He didn’t think it through very far.”

“Why are you so calm?” Charles asked, keeping his voice down as well as he would, trying to keep his temper from flaring despite the fact that he desperately wanted to scream. The red marks on Sean’s neck where his Celtic cross necklace had dug into his skin stood out in sharp definition, begging for Charles to look at them and take revenge. Charles swallowed.

“Because I have a favor to ask,” Emma finally said, raising her head. “I’d rather we not be shrieking at each other when I ask it of you.”

Charles hesitated. “What is it?”

“I need you to take Magneto,” Emma informed him bluntly. “Erik. Whatever you want to call him. He’s being impossible, he’s being reckless. Apparently, _you_ were the better half.”

“Was I, now?” Charles said under his breath. Emma inclined her head.

“Evidently so. Without you to balance him out, he’s incredibly irresponsible, and I, for one, am not in the business of babysitting adult men.” Emma stood from her chair. “You need to take him.”

“This isn’t a custody issue,” Charles snapped. “Erik is, as you said, an adult man. Just leave him.”

“And let him destroy any headway mutants have made?” Emma scoffed. “The man’s a hurricane. He’s going to decimate everything in his path, and I’m sure even _you_ can see that past the blind eye you’ve turned when it comes to him.”

“I have not-”

“Pride has no place in this discussion, Charles,” Emma scolded lightly. “Will you? Even if it’s just on a trial basis. I need him to find some sort of balance.”

“Our ideals are very different,” Charles reminded her. “Neither of us will allow the other to stand in our way.”

“Then fight harder to stand in his way,” Emma replied easily, “even for just a little while. He needs balance, Xavier. From what I can gather from your boys’ minds, so do you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Charles demanded. Emma rolled her glassy-looking eyes.

“It means someone’s been a bit of a grump,” Emma explained, “and is missing his boyfriend.”

Charles glared at Emma. “Have you talked to Erik about this?”

“A better question would be, ‘Have you talked to Erik at all?’, and the answer remains no.” Emma stepped closer to Charles. He remained still and steady, though his eyes tracked her as though she were a wild animal that smelled blood and may attack at any given moment. “Here’s my thinking. Your boy there still has Magneto’s helmet. We move them and separate them, you let them go, and we tell Magneto he’s got to stay for, say, three months.” She shrugged. “If he doesn’t, we can make him. Or, if you’re feeling squeamish about it, I’ll do it.”

“Miss Frost,” Charles sighed. “I will never force Erik into anything.”

“Then I will, if I need to.”

“You won’t.”

“I can.”

“But you won’t,” Charles repeated, “because I’ll stop you. If it’s the last thing I do, you won’t take Erik’s mind from him.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “You’re loyal to a fault, Xavier. You know that?”

“I’ve been told similar,” Charles assured her. “We will separate them. I will let them go. We will discuss this with everyone present, and we will let people make their own decisions. If Erik decides to stay, I won’t turn him away.”

“There’s a good boy,” Emma cooed falsely. She shifted back into her human form. “I’ll know if you try to get in here, by the way. Don’t forget that.”

“The same goes for you,” Charles reminded her. “I’m not afraid to attack you, Miss Frost. You’d best keep that in mind.”

“You’ve got a dark side that I wouldn’t like to see, Professor Xavier,” Emma commented before motioning with a wave of her pale, dainty hand to the frozen occupants of the room. “Maybe we should let them go, hash this out like grown-ups. How’s that sound, honey?”

“Charming,” Charles murmured, using the full extent of his mental strength to manipulate his boys into moving to one side of the kitchen while Emma moved Janos, Azazel, Raven, Erik, and Angel. Angel had been frozen in the corner, staring blankly at the fight, her wings unfurled and her eyes wide. Charles, at a nod from Emma, released their minds. The occupants of the room all unfroze at once, and Charles held up his hands. “Stop!”

The boys all skidded to a halt at the sound of Charles’ raised voice; they hardly ever heard him shout. Raven’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. Azazel, his mind free, was glaring at Charles. Janos was turned towards Emma, his expression accusing. Erik was watching both Emma and Charles carefully.

“What have you two done?” Erik asked accusingly. His eyes kept straying to Charles’ wheelchair. Charles gave him a look that made Erik’s expression open up for the briefest of moments before he shut himself off again.

“We were just talking, dear,” Emma assured him sweetly. Erik glared at her. “I had a wonderful suggestion that Charles said he’d let me discuss, if that’s quite alright.”

Erik turned his attention to Charles. “Is that so?”

“Let her speak, Erik,” Charles murmured. Angel’s wings curled close to her back, as though they wanted to sink back into her skin, but Angel was still too on edge to allow it. Emma raised an eyebrow at him, but Charles just motioned for her to speak. “Tell Erik what you told me, go on.”

“You’re going to stay here,” Emma told Erik bluntly. Erik frowned.

“No, I’m-”

“Magneto,” Emma interrupted easily. Erik’s jaw snapped shut, but his face was red, and he was becoming visibly angrier. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Sean tightened his grip on Erik’s helmet and shuffled to Charles’ side. Charles held his hand out, and Sean passed him the helmet. Erik watched their short interaction like a hawk.

“Give it to me,” Erik growled through clenched teeth. Charles could feel Erik’s power pulling at the helmet, but he focused all his strength and mental abilities on keeping the helmet in his lap.

“Will you please focus, Erik?” Emma asked, exasperated, her voice taking on a bit of an edge. “You’re going to stay here, because you’re useless to me like you’ve been. You need to find your center or whatever it was that the Professor was helping you to do before you… let’s just say ‘parted ways’.”

“I’m perfectly alright,” Erik snapped. “It was a mistake to come here.”

“You have a thicker head without your helmet.” Emma stepped forward. “You’re going to ruin what little progress we’ve made, Erik. Most of the progress we’ve made was the Professor’s doing, anyways.”

“I-”

“Shut up,” Emma warned. Erik closed his mouth again. Sean raised both eyebrows. “I want this to work just as much as you do, but that’s not going to happen if you continue on the way you have been. So, here are your options.” Emma held up one finger. “Option one: you stay here with Charles. Trial basis, three months. You learn to deal with whatever you have going on, and we can start over. Or you can stay here, whatever you decide at the end of those three months.” She raised a second finger. “Option two: I just leave and you can figure this all out on your own.” She raised a third finger and wiggled all three at Erik. “Your final option, option three: I force you into staying here. If I were you, honey, I'd take the first option."

“None of those options are particularly appealing,” Erik pointed out, plainly stalling. Emma lowered her hands and shrugged delicately.

“Pick your poison,” Emma instructed firmly. Erik’s hard look could have cut diamond, but Emma was unfazed by it. Erik turned to Charles instead, and the two just stared at each other before Erik spoke again.

“And you’re fine with this?” Erik asked. Charles did not move.

“I’m fine with your return,” Charles allowed. “I’m certainly not fine with the third option,” and here Charles offered a sharp look in Emma’s direction, though she just ignored him, “but I am prepared to welcome you back.”

“Even after-” Hank began, but Sean nudged him roughly, cutting him off. Alex shoved at Sean, but Charles just projected _Enough_ into their minds, and they both ceased moving.

“Yes,” Charles said in response to Hank’s unfinished question. The rest of the words hung heavily in the air. _Even after he left us?_ “Even after that.”

“Erik,” Emma said, drawing Erik’s attention back by using his name, “I highly recommend you stay here. I’ve got things to do anyways. Think of it as an extended sleepover.”

“I’d rather not-”

“Erik,” Emma repeated sharply. Erik’s eyes flicked between her and Charles. “Read my lips, sweetie. You’re staying here if I have to make you stay here, and you’re going to fix whatever problem you’ve got going on. Do you understand me?”

“Think of yourself as a gifted youngster,” Sean suggested, half-joking, half-angry. Charles projected a wave of _calm_ in his direction, and Sean’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Charles,” Erik said, and everyone else in the room’s eyes moved to Charles. “What do you think?”

“Unless you threaten my children again, you can stay,” Charles said. He enjoyed the warmth of _familyfatherchildren_ that washed over his mind from the three boys, and attempted to ignore the chill of _betrayaljealousybrother_ that came from Raven. “And I will be very strict about that. You will not harm them, you will not touch them. You will not be alone with them, if I can help it.”

“I was a fine teacher before… well, before,” Erik reminded him. Charles began to turn towards Sean, but Sean beat him to the punch, stepping forwards and tugging his collar away from his neck.

“You used to help me train,” Sean said, his fingers gripping his shirt. “Remember, when you actually believed in me? I still remember,” and here Sean’s memory supplied what he felt as he saw Erik smiling in the window, the pride he felt when Erik trusted him to succeed when he was shoved off the satellite, the short pep talk Erik had given him as they had walked out to the cars to go to the hangar. Charles caught the memories when Sean projected them towards him, and in turn broadcasted them to Erik, who flinched as though he had been slapped across the face. “I still remember. And now, what, you’re gonna sneak in my house, try to choke me? Who the hell _does_ that?”

Alex’s fingers found Sean’s shoulder, but Sean brushed him off, stepping into Erik’s space, tilting his face up until their eyes met. “I thought of you like a father. I didn’t have a dad. And, you know, it’s all funny, ‘ha-ha, Sean’s a stoner, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he’s always so happy, he doesn’t have to worry about anything.’ But I always felt like you _got_ me. I’ve never been so _fucking_ wrong.”

“Banshee-”

“My name’s Sean,” Sean snapped. “And this is Alex,” and he motioned to Alex, who was standing, shoulders squared, spine straight, beside Sean, “and this is Hank.” Hank stepped forward, his hand still resting on the handle of Charles’ wheelchair. Sean turned back to Erik. “But you’re Magneto now. You’re not Erik anymore, and you’re certainly not my father. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Sean turned on his heel and left the room. Erik’s expression was nothing short of stunned, though he quickly composed himself. Alex looked torn between running after Sean and staying put; after a brief moment of indecision, he chose not to move, though his thoughts took on a particularly hostile edge. Charles jerked his chin in the direction of the door.

“Sean just said what I wanted to say better than I could’ve,” Charles informed Erik bitterly. “I’m sorry to have been so wrong about you.”

 _Professor,_ Hank’s voice said softly in his mind. _Maybe, not now?_

Charles took a deep breath. _I’m just angry he hurt Sean._

 _So am I,_ Hank agreed, and Charles felt it, the rage Hank was keeping just under the surface, that he had been swallowing since Cuba, when he had to pull himself together, take over when Charles blacked out and Moira was still catching her breath. The rage paralleled his own. _But we can’t let him take advantage of that. He’s just spoiling for a fight. I don’t want to give him one if we don’t have to._

“Are you going to let us in on your little secrets?” Azazel asked, tail flicking. Charles broke eye contact with Hank to look at Erik, ignoring Azazel entirely.

“In case you were wondering...” Emma began casually, and Hank bared his teeth instinctually. Charles pushed what calm he had left from his mind to Hank’s. “We didn’t know. About your… condition.”

“Say it,” Hank growled, and Charles felt the calm slip from himself and both boys. Sean, sitting outside the kitchen door, trying to compose himself, was still seething. “Call a spade a spade. You _crippled_ him, Erik.” Everything Hank had just been saying into Charles’ mind slipped from them both as Hank’s anger began to surface.

“Hank,” Charles murmured. “Take Alex, take the girls, take… our guests. Go find Sean, and wait in the living room.” Charles’ searching gaze sought out Azazel. “I’m speaking to you, as well, you’ll notice. Take yourself and Janos and Emma, and leave. I’ll be listening,” Charles warned, “and I’ll be watching. If you so much as breathe on one of my boys, I will know instantly, and I will strip you of yourselves until you’re not even sure you’re alive.”

Alex stared blankly at Charles, but Hank ushered him out, shoving at his back until Alex’s legs obeyed and the occupants of the room slowly filed out. Raven’s melancholy gaze lingered on Charles, but, beyond a small push of _It’s going to be okay,_ at her mind, Charles tried to ignore her. Emma, the last one to leave, stopped next to Charles.

“You might feel like you need to go easy on him,” Emma suggested quietly, under her breath. Charles could feel Erik’s confusion, and knew he could not hear her. “But I don’t think you do. It might help him to stay. He’s feeling very guilty, but I’m sure you noticed that.”

Charles had, in fact, noticed that, but he was trying to avoid any part of Erik’s mind. Part of his concentration was still locked on the helmet in his hands.

“Just a thought,” Emma concluded. She strode out of the room, the door swinging shut behind her. Erik motioned to the helmet.

“Can I?” Erik asked, reaching for it. Charles did not move, not even a breath, not even a blink. Erik dropped his hand. “You’ve changed.”

“I wonder why,” Charles snapped. Erik raised an eyebrow.

“Have you given up on your quest for hope?”

“No,” Charles assured him. “No, and I never will. I’ve very nearly given up on my quest to find hope in you, however.”

“I could’ve told you it would be impossible at the start.”

“You’ll notice I said ‘very nearly,’” Charles pointed out. “I’ve not yet given up on you entirely, old friend. But if you touch one of them again,” and Charles unlocked his wheels, rolling himself forward with one hand until he had to crane his neck to look into Erik’s face, “I will give up, and you will know it.”

“A threat, Charles?” Erik shook his head, once. “You’ve changed,” he repeated. “And it seems not for the better, unless you’re willing to see my side.”

“You have reinforced my side with your actions,” Charles spat at him. He wheeled back a foot. “Emma informed me that you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know what?”

“About me,” Charles clarified, “and the state you left me in.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Erik said firmly. Charles almost wanted to laugh.

“You wouldn’t be you if it did,” Charles said, his voice low and bitter. “Your room is still the way it was before you left us. As is Raven’s, if she chooses to stay, as well.”

“I’d rather not stay,” Erik informed him. Charles shrugged, forcing as much nonchalance into the movement as he could.

“It seems you’ve got a choice to make, then.” Charles held out the helmet. Erik’s hands hovered in the empty space between his chest and the helmet, half-extended, fingers curled. “Lose your Brotherhood and lose yourself, or return to me and let me help you find yourself so that you can find your path.”

“Our paths are not the same,” Erik reminded him. Charles wheeled back a bit again.

“But they’re together,” Charles replied, “and they’re always crossing, and I’m quite certain they’ll end at the same point.”

Charles waited, feeling the strong edge of indecision in Erik’s mind as his thoughts whirred. Finally, his thoughts slid to a stop, and he seemed sure. “I’ll stay,” Erik said, and Charles nodded, once.

“You’re not to touch the students,” Charles repeated. “I’ll work with you.”

Erik reached further for the helmet, but Charles withdrew it.

“You’re not to wear this in my house,” Charles said. He held it out again, and Erik took it after hesitating for a brief moment. “I need to keep tabs on you if you’re going to stay here.”

“I didn’t recognize Sean at first,” Erik defended himself. “I didn’t know-”

“It’s no excuse,” Charles interrupted. “It’s Sean.”

Those two words sank heavily into Erik’s mind, and Charles felt the weight they added as though it was physically pressing on the only two occupants of the kitchen. Charles focused his mind and let his telekinesis push the shattered window glass out of the way of his wheels, lest he puncture one of them.

“I’m going to the living room now,” Charles informed Erik. “You can come with me to speak with your Brotherhood. I’ll be in your mind. I’m sure you feel it.”

“I almost missed it,” Erik replied, seemingly without stopping to think about his words. “Almost. But then I remembered what you can do.”

The metal arms of Charles’ wheelchair seemed to heat up under Erik’s intense gaze. “The same goes for you, my friend. Shall I speak with Hank about organizing a plastic wheelchair for myself?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Erik said. “It’s easier to feel you this way. You’re not wearing a belt like you used to.”

“I don’t need to wear a belt like I used to,” Charles reminded him sharply. “But I’ll start wearing my watch again.”

Without waiting for another word from Erik, Charles turned his wheelchair around and pushed himself from the room. Erik hesitated, just for a moment, before he followed after him. He kept at least five paces behind him the entire way to the completely silent living room. Hank seemed to be keeping guard of the room and its occupants. His blue hands were curled into furry, clawed fists.

“You can relax, Hank,” Charles said as he passed the young man. “I’ve got them.”

Despite Charles’ words, Hank remained tense. Erik saw little of the man he had known when he looked at Hank now; like everyone else, he seemed terribly, irrevocably changed. Charles came to a stop in front of Emma and Raven.

“Erik will be returning home,” Charles informed them. With Erik’s helmet held in his hands instead of secured on his head, Charles caught the edge of Erik’s spike in emotion when Charles said the word “home,” a twist of _belongingfamilydoubtsuspicion_ that Charles recognized. Charles turned his eyes on Raven alone. “Raven, if you would like-”

“Yes,” Raven gasped out, then covered her mouth with a scaly hand. Charles recognized his sister in that moment and, without pausing to think about his actions, opened his arms to her. Raven fell to her knees before him. “Charles, I didn’t know. I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

“Shh, Raven,” Charles murmured into her scarlet hair. He wrapped his arms around her; she moved in between his unfeeling legs, still on her knees, and buried her face in her brother’s hip. “It’s okay. Darling, it’s okay.”

Raven choked back a sob against his skin and his wife-beater, her breath catching harshly in her throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all okay,” Charles assured her. “Calm down, it’s going to be okay.”

“I love you,” Raven said, muffled by his clothes and skin. Sean swept out of the room, drawing nearly all eyes to him; he returned in moments, draping a bathrobe over Charles’ bare shoulders and goosebumped skin. Charles belatedly remembered he had forgone his nightclothes in the July heat.

“Thank you, Sean,” Charles said, pulling the robe down between his back and the chair, tugging the fabric across his chest. Raven tied it at his waist for him, leaning back to maneuver her violently blue hands between them. The yellow robe and Charles’ white skin stood out in stark contrast to her.

“I’m not staying,” Angel blurted suddenly. “I can’t stay here.”

“Suits us just fine,” Sean replied, his tone short. Alex mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “traitor.”

“You’ll stick with me,” Emma said to Angel. The young girl’s wings fluttered. Emma turned to Janos and Azazel. “You’re welcome to join me.”

“Tengo algunos asuntos familiares que atender,” Janos said to the room at large. “Enviar Azazel para mí cuando se desea reagrupar.”

“Sure thing, sugar,” Emma agreed. Janos and Azazel had a short, whispered exchange before popping out of the room into thin air, leaving behind nothing but the smell of sulfur. Azazel reappeared mere moments later and allowed Emma to take his elbow. “I’ll be in touch,” Emma assured them. Angel gripped Azazel’s free, ruby-red hand, and the three of them vanished into nothingness. Raven was still knelt before her brother.

“Can you forgive me?” Raven asked softly, once the abrupt departure had settled into quiet emptiness. Charles ran the fingers of one hand through her hair.

“The blame isn’t yours to bear,” Charles promised. He left out the rest of the sentence, the unspoken name of the man whose blame it was to bear, but Raven’s eyes flickered to Erik’s regardless. “As for leaving me, I understand why you had to go.”

“I wouldn’t’ve left you,” Raven tearfully whispered, the words only for her brother’s ears. He touched her cheek; she let her head fall into his palm. “If I’d known-”

“We didn’t know,” Alex pointed out sharply, the first words he had spoken all night. “And here we are.”

“Let’s talk in the morning,” Charles suggested. “We’ll all get back to sleep, get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Raven leaned up; Charles let her kiss his cheek, like she used to do every night when it was just them, Charles and Raven against the world. Brother and sister, until Erik and Cuba had pulled their family of two apart. She wished the tense room of men goodnight, then left them, heading towards where she remembered her bedroom to be. Charles felt the hesitation framing everyone’s thoughts.

“Goodnight, Erik,” Charles bid. Erik paused, then took his leave, his great violet cape fluttering out behind him. Sean looked vaguely as though he wanted to step on the end of it and trip Erik, or, at the very least, leave a scuff, but he restrained himself.  Charles thanked God for small mercies. Once they deemed Erik to be out of earshot, the boys all rounded on Charles at once.

“How can you just act like nothing happened?” Hank demanded, angrier than Charles had ever seen him. The edge that he had had to his thoughts for months now was finally unleashed, growing into the beast Charles knew it to be. “Professor, he _left_ us.”

“He’s a monster,” Sean added, “and I hate him.”

“Now, Sean,” Charles began, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose, “you loved him once. We have three months with him. Perhaps he’ll come ‘round.”

“You’ve got your rose-colored glasses on again, Prof,” Sean pointed out. Charles raised one eyebrow at the young man. “Magneto’s never going to come around to our side of things. He’s too involved in himself.”

“Then we’ll try our best to work with him,” Charles amended. “Now, I understand that it’s been an exciting night, but we really ought to head to bed. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Despite general grumbling, the boys began trudging to their rooms. Charles caught Sean’s hand, holding the boy back for a moment. He motioned for Sean to crouch down, and the redhead did as he was asked, squatting down beside Charles’ wheelchair. Charles reached out and ran his fingertips over the angry marks on Sean’s neck.

“I’ll put some antibiotics on you,” Charles murmured, releasing Sean. “Just in case.”

Sean nodded. “Sure, Prof.”

Charles led him to the bathroom and helped him with the antibiotic cream in silence. Sean gave him a quick goodnight and vanished down the hall into his room. Charles wheeled himself back to his own bedroom - his new one, on the ground floor, since they had no way for him to get up the stairs as of yet - and settled back in his own bed.

 _Hank,_ Charles said quietly in his own head, broadcasting in Hank’s direction.

 _Yeah, Professor?_ Hank’s voice came back to him.

_Let’s see what we can do tomorrow about making a plastic wheelchair._

Hank hesitated, then just said, _Sure thing._

Charles did not sleep that night, instead sitting up and keeping watch on everyone’s sleeping minds. Every dream was vague, random images and colors flying past him. He pulled a book off the shelf in his nightstand and settled in.


	5. Teekampagne Darjeeling

The next morning, Charles was the first one awake, followed very closely by Erik. While Charles’ mind was still dragging itself out of unconsciousness into wakefulness, he felt a snap of panic that did not belong to him when Erik woke up in his old bedroom, now his current bedroom once more. While he patiently waited for Erik to work through his emotions, he transferred himself from his bed to his wheelchair and busied himself with showering and getting dressed. He was fully dressed and putting the kettle on in the kitchen when Erik finally came down. The windows were still gone, but the heat of July was enough to keep a draft from floating through the kitchen as it would in any non-summer month. Erik paused in the doorway, wearing the grey sweatpants and sweatshirt that he had left behind.

Charles turned away from Erik when the kettle began to scream. He stretched up, a dish towel wrapped around his hand as he grabbed the handle and set the kettle on the counter.

“If you would, Erik,” Charles said without turning around, “could you please get me two mugs?”

Erik moved to stand beside Charles, reaching over his head to open the cabinet. Charles shook his head, and Erik’s hand stilled.

“We had to move them because Hank and Alex continuously bicker over whose cereals are whose, so Sean put their cereals in two separate cabinets.” Charles motioned to the cabinet Erik had been reaching for. “That’s all Alex’s cereal.”

“Where are the mugs?” Erik asked, stepping back to look at the assortment of cabinets before him. Charles pointed far to the left, and Erik moved accordingly, opening the cabinet and staring at the many accumulated mugs before him. “Which one would you like?”

“I like them all,” Charles informed him, still focusing on pouring the right amount of water into each mug. “You can pick whatever you’d like. I think yours is still in there.”

Erik looked over the contents, then reached out and grabbed a blue mug for Charles and his old box-shaped metallic mug. He remembered the familiar hum of the mug’s metal. “Why do you still have this?”

“Because you never know,” Charles answered shortly, just barely keeping a lid on his anger. He wanted to get the children out of the house before they truly began going at it. Once he deemed the tea sufficiently steeped, he filled both of their mugs. Erik picked up the box of tea on the counter.

“‘Teekampagne Darjeeling tea,’” Erik read out loud. “Why do you still have _this_ , is a better question.”

“Hank got unfortunately addicted,” Charles explained. He moved to pass Erik his mug, but it floated out of his grasp and into Erik’s hands before he could. “It’s one of his favorites now. He tried to drink it less… afterwards, but he was unsuccessful.” Charles lifted his mug and rolled himself back a bit. “You left your imprint on them in more ways than you know.”

“Charles-”

“Here’s the plan for today,” Charles interrupted. “You and I are going to make breakfast, like we used to. We’re going to get along, for the children’s sake. Hank and I are going to start work today on a plastic wheelchair, because I’d rather not be trapped in something I can’t get out of should you lose your temper.”

“Charles,” Erik repeated, and Charles lifted his head. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Past history begs to differ,” Charles pointed out. Erik sat down in the kitchen chair and, with a flick of his wrist, brought Charles right in front of him, the two of them facing each other.

“I didn’t know,” Erik reminded him, “and I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You hurt me before you did this to me,” Charles said softly. “You blocked me out, Erik. You took yourself away from me, and you turned your back on everything I am and everything I fight for. What you did afterwards is just a permanent marker of our separation.”

“We’re not separated,” Erik countered. “Charles, we’re fighting the same fight.”

“No, Erik,” Charles said. “We are not.”

Erik took a sip of his tea, his hands wrapped around the hot metal despite not needing to be. He paused, then spoke again. “I didn’t leave you. I left your fight.”

“They are one and the same.”

“I don’t love the fight anymore,” Erik said. “So, they’re different.”

Charles looked up from his tea. “I’m sorry?”

 _Charles,_ Erik murmured in their thoughts. _Look into my mind. Just- do it._

_Why the sudden change of heart?_

_I trust you._

_Do you?_

A flicker of hesitation, of doubt, that was quickly stamped down. _Just do it, Charles._

Charles lifted his free hand, the other one still warm and wrapped around his mug, and pressed two fingers to his temple. Without breaking eye contact with Erik, Charles dove into his mind, into the emotions and the thoughts that Erik was pushing towards him with practice ease.

 _Almost like riding a bicycle,_ Charles thought to himself, and Erik’s short mental laugh floated between them as he caught the words. Charles was suddenly blown back by a sudden burst of intense emotion; he could feel the warring affection and guilt, pain and love, all vying for Erik’s attention. Charles sighed out loud, deeply, audibly, and Erik pressed the heel of one hand into his right eye.

 _You’ve got to go deeper than surface level for this, Charles,_ Erik said in his mind. With an inner sound that resembled a deep breath, Charles pushed further in, delving into places in Erik’s mind he had only been a couple of times before. _I would never betray you. Argue with you, disagree with you, fight with you - yes, to all of those, and likely more. But betray you? Never._

Charles accepted his words, but did not reply, focused as he was on exploring the very depths of Erik’s mind, a place he had not been welcome in too long. He shifted through memories he did not recognize, memories from the months they spent apart. He saw Raven, shifting through form after form for this plan or that idea. He saw the months through Erik’s eyes, and it was an experience he had not been expecting, like filling in the missing half of his mind.

 _My sister is involved with Azazel?_ Charles thought sharply. Erik suppressed a smile.

 _More than that, you’ll find,_ Erik thought back. Charles withdrew from Erik’s mind like a rubber band that had been stretched too far. He felt the minds in the mansion all wake up at once, seven minds snapping into awareness as Charles’ shock caused his telepathy to misfire.

 _What the hell,_ Sean groaned inside his head.

 _Raven,_ Charles growled. His sister’s mind, surprised into wakefulness, responded warmly to his before it recognized his tone. She sighed.

 _I take it he told you._ Charles felt Raven as she dragged herself out of bed.

 _Get to the kitchen,_ Charles ordered to the older minds of the house. To Hank, he said, _Retrieve Ororo, Jean, and Scott for me, please. I will ensure Erik does them no harm, but I’d rather they meet him and Raven sooner rather than later._

Hank acknowledged him and agreed, despite his confusion. Charles pulled out of their minds and focused on Erik again. The man across from him was calmly drinking from his tea, but his mind betrayed him, showing Charles the edge of his nerves.

“You and Raven have that in common,” Charles grumbled in the general direction of his mug. “You don’t do anything by halves.”

“Charming,” Erik replied. His mug of tea flew up into the air, seemingly of its own accord. “What have you been up to lately?”

“Working on the school,” Charles answered, just as Hank came in, holding Jean on his hip with one hand while Ororo held the other hand and walked alongside him. Scott was running circles around Hank, asking excited questions about their guests.

“The school?” Erik asked, looking over at Hank and the children. “Oh, my. You have been busy, haven’t you, Charles?”

Charles did not answer, choosing instead to allow Scott to hop into his lap. Erik saved his mug for him. Scott clung to Charles’ neck; Ororo shyly stepped up beside Charles’ wheelchair.

“Professor,” Ororo whispered loudly, “Who is this?”

“This is an old friend who’ll be staying with us for awhile, dear Ororo,” Charles informed her. Scott watched Erik cautiously from behind a strip of red and black metal attached to his face over his eyes. Jean, the youngest of the three, with flaming red hair, was tugging on Hank’s fur, ignoring Erik completely. “His name is Erik.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ororo,” Erik said sincerely, holding his hand out. She stepped forward nervously, her white hair a mess around her head. She looked up at Charles, who nodded to her; she put her small hand in Erik’s and let him shake. Charles smiled, and the three small children all stared up at him in shock.

“You made Professor smile,” Scott exclaimed, turning back to Erik. “Professor _never_ smiles!”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, Scott,” Charles murmured. Scott ignored him, sticking his own hand out for Erik to shake.

“I’m Scott,” Scott informed Erik. “I burn things with my eyes.”

“I’m Erik,” Erik replied. “I move metal with my mind.”

Scott’s tiny mouth dropped open. “No way.”

“Way.” Erik held out his hand, palm up, and let his mug float into it. Now, both Scott and Ororo were staring, open-mouthed. Jean remained focused on pulling at Hank’s fur.

“Hank,” Charles said, drawing the young man’s attention away from Jean to him. “Once everyone’s eaten breakfast, would you be so kind as to take everyone into town for me?”

“Professor?” Hank made eye contact with Charles. _What’s this about?_

 _I’d rather talk to Erik without any delicate children around,_ Charles answered solemnly, no humor in his tone. _I want to know they’re safe, without a doubt._

 _Sure thing,_ Hank said before pulling away from their minds. “That’s fine. There’s a new picture out anyways. I’ll call Logan, see if he wants to come along.”

“Good idea,” Charles agreed. He lifted Scott up and set him on his feet on the floor so that he could wheel himself to the cabinets. “Who wants what today?”

“Cocoa Puffs,” Ororo shrieked. Scott nodded his agreement eagerly, and Jean just stared after them. Sean came sprinting into the kitchen, nearly colliding with the wall.

“Did someone say Cocoa Puffs?” Sean demanded, scooping Ororo up and swinging her around. She screamed in delight, latching onto Sean’s t-shirt as her hair flew out behind her. Alex came in right behind him, albeit at a much slower pace. Scott immediately abandoned everyone else to attach himself to his brother’s leg.

“Hey, nerd,” Alex greeted the boy, leaning down and lifting him up with one hand at the back of his hand. He dropped Scott on his own shoulders; Scott grabbed his brother’s hair and called for him to get them cereal. Raven stepped into the doorway shortly after, tense, awkward, her arms folded across her chest. Charles nearly dropped his bowl.

“Raven,” Charles said softly, before his face hardened into stone. “I’ll kill him.”

“Charles-”

“Kill who?”

“What’s going on?”

“Quiet,” Erik commanded loudly. Jean jumped in Hank’s grip and stared at Erik with wide, wet eyes. Hank shushed her and opened the refrigerator, showcasing its contents to her. She occupied herself with slapping at a milk bottle.

“Charles,” Raven repeated. “It’s okay. I said I didn’t want him to feel obligated-”

“He _should_ feel obligated,” Charles interrupted. “It’s just as much his doing as it was yours.”

“I told him that because I’d rather my child didn’t grow up in that life,” Raven snapped. Hank’s spine straightened; Jean pulled at the fur on his neck, a worried crease between her eyes. Raven’s shoulders slumped, all the fire in her going out at once. “I don’t want that for them.”

“I understand,” Charles said. “You can stay here, for as long as you need. And if you choose to… leave again-”

“Can he attend your school?” Raven asked, an edge of panic in her voice. “I mean, he wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’m sure, and I’ll stay until he’s old enough to understand what’s going on, and-”

“Raven,” Charles said softly. He held out his hand, and Raven took it, stepping forward. Sean was darting nervous glances between Hank and Raven. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of him.”

“I’m sorry,” Raven blurted out softly. Charles kissed the back of her hand.

“It’s nothing you ought to apologize for,” Charles assured her. “Now, eat some breakfast, you terrible thing. Hank’s taking the children and Alex out for a film this morning.”

“I’m not a child,” Sean insisted around a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs as Ororo shoved her face into her bowl of cereal and milk. Charles sighed and did what he could to speed the process of breakfast; he helped the children eat, get dressed, brush their teeth and hair, and assisted Hank in getting everyone out the door and into Logan’s truck when he pulled up.

“Hey, Chuck!” Logan called out the driver’s side window. His eyes were almost immediately drawn to Erik, standing behind Charles. He let out a low whistle. “Don’t wanna be here for whatever’s about to happen.”

“You can bet your ass you don’t want to be,” Alex murmured under his breath as he climbed into the bed of the truck. Charles frowned at him.

_I heard that._

_You were meant to._

Charles scowled, but waved as the children left regardless. Scott nearly fell out of the window trying to wave to Charles, until Logan reached around and dragged him back inside.

 _Bring them back in one piece, please,_ Charles asked Logan. Logan scoffed, out loud as well as in his mind.

 _Only if there’s still a house left standing to bring them back to,_ Logan replied. _Seriously, though. Good luck._

 _Thanks._ Charles spared a glance in Erik’s direction before he turned himself around and wheeled himself back into the house. Erik followed after him, a distinctly anxious vibe to his thoughts.

“Charles-”

“Erik,” Charles interrupted, stopping where he was, holding up one finger. “I wouldn’t speak to me until I’m ready. With the children gone, I have no reason to hold back how absolutely _angry_ I am with you right now. To be honest, you’re lucky I didn’t make you stick your own head up your arse just for kicks the second I saw you.”

Erik, smartly, did not reply. Charles took a deep breath, then continued forward, his movements jerking and angry. He wheeled himself to his study, trusting Erik to follow him, and began pulling the pieces out of his chess set and setting it up as it was the night before Erik left, as best as he could remember it. Erik lifted the chair he had usually selected with ease and set it down on what was his side of the chessboard. He took a seat, and waited patiently for Charles to finish setting up the board. Charles was well aware that he was slamming the pieces down, but, now that he had let all his walls fall down, the anger was flowing out of him without restraint, happy to finally be free and have a place to go, a place where it belonged.

“It’s your move,” Charles finally said, situating himself on his side and looking the board over. He had been close to winning, he remembered, but Erik seemed to have an idea at the time. Charles had never found out what it was; however, Erik seemed to recall the moves he had been planning, if the fact that he moved a knight almost immediately. The game continued in silence for some time, hands alternating between flying around the board and hesitating over pawns, until Charles toppled Erik’s king. Charles began setting the board up again. Without a word, Erik joined him, putting down piece after piece, moving in unison with Charles to set the game up again. Their hands brushed once, and Charles tensed up. Erik seemed to take this as a sign that he could speak again.

“Charles,” Erik said, slowly. Charles did not lift his head, his eyes still focused on the checkerboard pattern under the pieces. “Whatever you need to say-”

Charles slammed down his king. “There’s _plenty_ I need to say, Erik.”

“Then _say it_ , Charles.”

Charles pondered Erik for a tense, horrible moment, then moved his hands, gripping the edges of the board. “You left me for dead.”

“You didn’t die.”

“You didn’t know if I was going to live or die,” Charles bit off. “ _I_ didn’t know if I was going to live or die. How could you _leave_ me?”

“I had no choice,” Erik insisted. “If I didn’t leave then, I would never have left at all.”

“It was your fault,” Charles stated blackly. Erik blanched.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I do,” Charles replied easily. “I do think you don’t know that - or, at least, you won’t accept that.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“On the contrary,” Charles snapped, “I know quite a lot. I know that I’m more angry than I’ve ever been, and it’s you I’m angry with. I know you changed my life, and mostly for the worse. I know that I want nothing more to stand up and just _scream_ at you, to stand up and attack you, punch you until my knuckles are _bleeding_ , but I can’t.” Charles curled his hands into fists, which he then placed into his lap, out of Erik’s sight. “I _can’t_ , because I can’t stand.” Charles looked up at Erik, his blue eyes brilliant - or, rather, more brilliant than usual - with tears. “I can’t stand, and it’s your fault, Erik.”

Erik, though he could not see Charles’ hands, could feel the watch Charles had put on that morning. Charles had remembered his promise, made flippantly and in haste though it was. Erik was suddenly focused on the watch, nothing but the watch; the warmth in his mind, pressing against his hands, his senses. He nearly trembled with it, and he watched as Charles’ attention snapped down to the watch attached to his wrist.

“If you don’t calm down,” Charles warned, “I’ll make you calm down.”

Erik focused on releasing the watch and Charles’ wheelchair, pulling himself away from the metal in the room, drawing inward until the only metal he could feel was the change in his pocket, the buckle of his belt, his own watch on his wrist. Charles looked up at Erik again.

“I’m so,” and Charles paused, taking a deep, wavering breath. His voice trembled, he could hear it; he struggled to regain control of it. “I’m so _angry_ with you, Erik. You trapped me in my own body, and you abandoned me. I can’t-” Charles paused again, exhaling, pressing his the sides of his fists to his temples. “I can’t even fathom how angry I am at this point.”

“I lost you, Charles,” Erik said. As Charles’ fists fell back into his lap, he picked up waves of sadness off of Erik. He ignored them, bitterly pleased that Erik was feeling even the slightest bit melancholy. “There’s plainly a reason Emma decided to drop me off here like a child staying at his father’s for the weekend.” Erik paused, carefully thinking over his next words. “I work better with you than I do away from you.”

“Fat load of good that does me,” Charles said. “You can’t just come back and expect everything to be as you left it. Life doesn’t stop when you leave. In fact, life continues quite harshly, and it continues _without you_.”

“Charles-”

“Let me _finish_ ,” Charles interrupted. “I can hardly bear to _look_ at you. I remember- I remember, the last time we were here, in my study. Playing chess. Do you?” Charles paused, just for a moment, and Erik inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Good. You’ll remember, then, what we talked about. About how killing Shaw wouldn’t bring you peace.”

“And I told you peace was never an option,” Erik murmured. Charles nodded.

“You did tell me that. And I remember that I was so worried for you, Erik. I was worried that, when you finally did get to Shaw - because God knows you weren’t going to stop until you did - you would lose yourself.” Charles paused, gathering himself for a moment. “I never thought you would lose me, as well.”

“I haven’t lost you, Charles,” Erik said, trying to hold Charles’ eyes with his gaze. Charles looked away from him, just over his shoulder, just past him. “Have I?”

“You have,” Charles answered, his voice shaking. “You need to find yourself. I only hope that, once you do, you will find me again, as well.”

Erik held himself back from the rest of the metal in the room, in the mansion, in his entire range. He held himself back from chasing after Charles as he wheeled himself from the room, his face red and his hands shaking. He held himself back until he felt Charles’ presence shrink to just the back of his mind, and then he let himself fall apart, all the metal in the mansion trembling violently and beginning to fly about at once. Charles wheeled himself into his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and screamed inside his own mind. He enjoyed the brief moment of vindictive pleasure that came with feeling Erik’s mental flinch, but, as the metal of his wheelchair, his watch, his coins - really, all the metal in his room - rattled, he felt nothing but rage and the sharp sting of loss.


	6. The Unsinkable Molly Brown

Charles kept close watch over Erik’s mind for the three hours following their fight. He listened in as Erik sifted through anger, guilt, shock - Charles was privy to a whole host of emotions that did not belong to him. He had hesitated in his own mind only briefly before saying, to himself, “To hell with it.” He pressed his fingers to his temple and linked his mind to Erik’s. If Erik felt his presence - and Charles was sure he did - he did not acknowledge it.

After those three hours of inward madness and turmoil, and outward silence, Erik prodded tentatively at their connection. Charles had never felt this particular shade of uncertainty and hesitation from Erik before. It prompted him into responding.

 _What?_ Charles asked, sound tired, even to himself.

 _Can we try again?_ Erik thought in reply. Charles’ brow furrowed, but Erik continued before he could answer. _I mean, try again. Meeting again. On dry land this time, even._

 _You sound hopeful,_ Charles replied. Erik paused.

 _You… Our roles have been reversed._ Erik said. _Almost. In a way. I’d like to trade back._

_I don’t think-_

 _We’ll at least try,_ Erik continued. _Charles._

Charles tapped the fingers of his free hand on the arm of his wheelchair. _I’m still beyond angry._

 _I know, and I don’t expect you to forgive me._ Erik’s mind was approaching his, coming closer. _Like I said. We’ll at least try._

A knock came at the door to Charles’ bedroom. Charles wheeled himself to the door, pulling open the heavy oak to reveal Erik on the other side.

“Hello,” Erik greeted him casually. A tremble in his voice betrayed him slightly, but, in retaliation, he simply acted as though it did not exist. He stuck his hand out. “My name is... well, it was Max Eisenhardt, but now it’s Erik Magnus Lehnsherr. You can just call me Erik.”

Charles stared up at him before slowly slipping his hand into Erik’s. “I’m Professor Charles Francis Xavier.”

Erik shook his hand. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Xavier.”

“Please,” Charles insisted, restraining a smile, “call me Charles.”

“Charles, then,” Erik amended. He had stopped shaking Charles’ hand, but had not yet let go. He grinned, revealing all his teeth, and yet Charles still found himself ever so slightly charmed, beneath his anger. “A pleasure, truly.”

Charles opened his mouth to reply just as Logan’s mind began projecting towards him from the edge of the grounds, poking at his awareness. _We good to come back in, Chuck? Or are there quarters and candlesticks waiting to shove themselves through our heads and up our asses?_

 _You’re safe,_ Charles assured him. _Erik shan’t be a cause for concern, I assure you._

Logan snorted across their mental connection. _“Shan’t,” Chuck? Really?_

 _Really,_ Charles replied drily before pulling out of Logan’s mind into his own again. He realized a beat too late that he was still looking up at Erik, their hands still clasped together. Erik was just staring back, in that unnerving way of us. Charles withdrew his hand.

“The children have returned home,” Charles informed him. Erik stepped out of Charles’ path so that he could wheel himself through the doorway and down the hall to the front room. He pulled the heavy front doors open and pushed himself into the doorway to wave as the children entered. He felt more than heard Erik move up to stand behind him.

“You will respect each and every one of these children,” Charles said to Erik, without turning or even looking up at him. “You will treat them as if they are your own. You will not touch them. You will also apologize to Sean. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”

Erik paused, then - “Yes.”

“Good,” Charles sighed. He raised his hand into the air when Logan’s truck became visible to his naked eye. He could see the children nearly falling out the windows and off the bed of the truck in their haste to wave back to him. Luckily, they remained safely in the vehicle until Logan actually stopped. Once he was in park, however, the children were spilling out in waves. Scott and Ororo sprinted across the grass, scaling Charles as though he were a climbing frame, shouting information and opinions about the movie they saw. Sean followed soon after, nearly jumping up and down. Hank maneuvered Jean out of the car, coming to the doorway with Alex and Logan at a slower pace.

“We saw _The_ …” and Ororo paused, then looked up at Sean for help.

“ _The Unsinkable Molly Brown,_ ” Sean supplied helpfully. Ororo pulled herself up into Charles’ lap, then tugged Scott up to sit beside her.

“Yes, that,” Ororo said. “It was so much _fun_ , Professor Charles! You and Erik should’ve come!”

“We had some lessons to make,” Charles informed her. Sean, Ororo, and Scott all groaned at the same time. Alex smiled at his brother. “Come, now. It’s Wednesday, and what does that mean?”

“Game Night!” Ororo shrieked. Scott scowled at her, even as he grabbed onto Charles’ sweater vest.

“I _love_ Game Night,” Scott declared dramatically. “Whose night is it to pick?”

“I believe it’s Logan’s,” Charles answered. Logan rolled his eyes as Scott and Ororo turned to him excitedly.

“What do you want to play, Mr. Logan?” Scott asked, standing up on Charles’ thigh. “We can play anything. Except poker, because Sean-”

“-says that’s against the rules,” Sean interrupted, finishing for Scott. He lifted the boy up and clamped a hand over his mouth. Charles raised an eyebrow. “That’s all he was going to say, Professor.”

“I’m sure,” Charles said. “Well, Logan doesn’t need to decide on a game right now. We still have lessons to get through before tonight.”

A chorus of groans fell from the children, the most vocal being Sean. Charles ran the fingers of one hand through Ororo’s vibrant white hair.

“Wait!” Scott exclaimed, his small hands clinging to Sean’s t-shirt. “Erik and Raven are our _guests_ , Professor! _They_ get to pick the game!”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Logan grumbled under his breath. Erik snapped his head around to glare at him, but Logan appeared remarkably unfazed. Charles, in the part of his mind that was keeping careful tabs on Erik, reached out to Erik’s thoughts.

 _You’re not going to want to do that,_  Charles threatened as he felt Erik’s intentions take a distinctly hostile edge. Through Erik’s mind, he could feel the focused hum of Logan’s dogtags. _Let them go._

 _Fine,_ Erik ground out, his voice sounding frustrated even in his mind. He released the metal around Logan’s neck. Logan tugged at them, seemingly noticing the warmth. He turned his face up to look at Erik. His claws shot out from between his knuckles before Charles even realized his intent, and he had Erik pinned against the wall beside the front door in seconds. He held the tips of the claws two inches from Logan’s face.

“Take the children inside,” Charles ordered Hank urgently. Hank nodded, ushering Sean and Scott inside. Alex snatched Ororo from Charles’ lap and passed her off to Hank, shutting the door behind them. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded Logan and Erik with relative calm. “Alex.”

“What?” Alex asked without even looking at Charles. Charles fought the urge to shout.

“Go inside,” Charles instructed, slowly. Alex turned now, his face a mask of serenity that Charles recognized well. “Alex, please. Scott’s in the window.”

That shook Alex, catching his attention; he looked over his shoulder at the window where, surely enough, his little brother was watching him with a furrowed brow. Alex rolled his shoulders and dropped his arms. He spared a glance at Erik and Logan, who had not moved in the moments it had taken Alex and Charles to talk. Erik looked as though he were contemplating homicide. Alex threw the front door open and ducked inside. Charles flicked the door shut and rounded on the two men.

“That’s enough,” Charles said. “Both of you.”

Neither Erik nor Logan listened to him. Charles could feel Logan’s anger; it clouded his thoughts, as it always did, obscuring anything he may be thinking from Charles. Fortunately - or, perhaps, unfortunately -, his anger usually meant he was not thinking at all. From Erik, however, he could feel the distinct warmth and vibration that was Erik latching onto Logan’s adamantium skeleton with his powers. His thoughts were coming in pulses, beats that matched his heart, simple words like _fight, defend, destroy, touch, claws,_ mixing in languages. Charles was assaulted by German, by French, by American and Russian and Gaelic the further in he went. He nearly shoved his fingers through his skin when he pressed his fingertips to his temple.

 _Calm,_ he projected into both of their minds. _Let go._

“No mind tricks, now, Chuck,” Logan growled out loud. “He’s feelin’ my bones. I can feel it. It’s all warm and - it’s just not right.”

Erik bared his teeth in a snarl. “If you’d let me go, I wouldn’t need to feel your bones.”

“Release him,” Charles said, to neither of them in particular.

“No,” they both bit back in unison. Logan’s claws inched closer to Erik’s throat.

“I could kill you right now,” Logan spat. Erik grinned grimly and flexed his fingers.

“I’d like to see you try,” Erik said back, his voice low and dangerous. Charles, his fingers still pressed to his temple, went to his final resort. He conjured up an imagined gunshot, loud and sharp, paired with an image of himself, a bullet lodged in his own forehead. He projected the scene forcefully into both of their minds, and watched as Logan’s claws immediately retracted and Erik’s awareness snapped from Logan to Charles, seeking out his watch, his wheelchair, the bullet he could see _right there_ in Charles’ forehead-

And Logan’s animal instincts shifted from _attack_ to _protect_ as he searched for an assailant. Charles dropped his hand, and the two of them blinked at the same time. Erik’s face clouded over, but he remained silent; Logan just rolled his eyes and straightened up from his slight crouch.

“You gotta stop doing that,” Logan complained. “You’re gonna drive me nuts. One day, when you’re actually hurt, I’m not gonna believe you.”

“If you listened to me more often,” Charles reminded him, “maybe I wouldn’t need to do that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan grumbled. He looked towards the window, where Scott and Ororo were watching him, their childish eyes large with surprise and worry. Hank had a hand on each of their shoulders and was saying something to them that Charles could not hear through the thick glass. “I suppose I should apologize to them.”

 _I’m not apologizing to him,_ Logan projected to Charles. Charles nodded once to him.

“I suppose you should,” Charles agreed. Logan spared one last moment to glare menacingly at Erik before he disappeared through the front door. Charles watched as Logan scooped up Scott, holding him upside-down as Ororo shot forward and wrapped herself around his leg. Erik’s mind struck against his, seemingly without Erik’s even noticing.

“What the hell was that?” Erik snapped. Charles returned his attention to him.

“That’s a projection,” Charles explained. “I use them when I need to.”

“That’s too fucking much,” Erik snarled at him. Charles curled his hands into fists involuntarily, glaring back at Erik with more anger than he remembered ever letting show on his face before he had met this man.

“Like I said to Logan,” Charles said, forcibly injecting patience into his own voice, “if you listened to me, I wouldn’t have to do that.”

“It doesn’t matter that you did it.” Erik ran his hand through his hair, plainly still coming back down. “It matters what you _did_. What the fuck- Why do you choose _that_?”

“Because it gets people’s attention,” Charles replied, raising an eyebrow. He touched his fingertips to his temple lightly and dove into Erik’s mind. Pulses of _fearterrorwhynowhywhy_ washed over him. He blinked and pulled out of Erik’s mind, inhaling sharply. Erik frowned at him. “Are you alright, Erik?”

“I’m fine,” Erik replied, perhaps too quickly. Charles cocked his head slightly, but otherwise let it go. His own suppressed rage was starting to swirl with Erik’s frustration and anger, and he was having trouble pushing both of them back.

“There are lessons today, it being a Wednesday,” Charles involved Erik, subtle as a brick through the window, “and it’s Sean’s turn to cook. You and Raven’ll want to pick a game, because you don’t want Scott and Ororo to be angry with you. They’re nasty when they tag-team, and if Jean notices they’re upset, you’ll have to get your helmet again.”

“She’s a telepath?” Erik asked, surprised. Charles shrugged slightly, a small lifting of his shoulders. The movement was small, insignificant, something Charles had never been before… well, before. He shook it off.

“She’s something, and it’s all in her mind,” Charles explained. “I’m not quite sure the extent yet. I’m sure it will manifest more with age. She gives me impressions through our connection, rather than speaking. I’m more than certain she can speak. It’s just easier for her not to. She’s going to be incredibly powerful.”

“Then it’s a good thing you got to her,” Erik said. Charles leaned over and pushed the front door open.

“I prefer to help the children before anyone else can take advantage of them,” Charles said softly before wheeling himself through the door. He could feel Erik hesitate behind him, hovering in the doorway in a sweater and slacks, much too much clothes for the summer. He knew Erik preferred to cover his skin, keep himself less vulnerable, so he chose not to comment. He paused, however, when Erik was still standing in the doorway, unmoving. “Would you like to teach a class? The children might benefit from foreign languages, or any other expertise you may be able to offer. History, engineering, shop. I’m afraid that, between myself, Hank, Alex, Logan, and Sean, we’re quite limited.”

“There’s only so much science small children can handle,” Erik tried to joke, but it fell flat between them. Charles motioned for Erik to follow him, wheeling down the hallway to the room he had set up as his classroom. He pushed himself behind his desk. Erik stayed in the doorway once more.

“You can teach with me today,” Charles said, “and we’ll see how they like you. I’ve got to teach Sean and Alex first, we’ve been working with physics.”

“Why would they need physics?”

“Because they’re children like any other,” Charles explained patiently, a well-rehearsed script, “and they need to have a well-rounded education. This includes physics.”

“And he’s hideously unfair about the whole thing,” Sean grumbled. Charles watched as Erik caught sight of the gauze taped onto Sean’s neck. Sean, too, noticed Erik’s line of sight, and self-consciously tugged the collar of his t-shirt up a bit further. Alex shoved in around Erik without so much as a ‘hello’ tossed his way.

“Now, Sean,” Charles began, but Sean just groaned and dropped a book on one of the student desks in front of Charles’ grand oak desk.

“Save me the lecture, Professor, please,” Sean moaned, falling into his seat. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and Ororo _keeps shocking me_ with tiny bolts of lightning, and I swear to God Hank poisoned lunch.”

“He didn’t poison lunch,” Alex said in the direction of his book as he took his own seat. “He just poisoned your coffee.”

“Ha-ha, the world’s deadliest hula-hooper cracks a joke,” Sean shot back drily. Alex rolled his eyes and straightened himself up in his seat as Sean slouched down.

“Erik will be observing you today,” Charles explained to them once it seemed that they were done. “He may just begin teaching here.”

“Asshole 101,” Sean hissed under his breath to Alex. Alex grinned, even as Charles frowned at them both. He felt a hint of amusement in the back of his mind, however, that only grew at the sour look on Erik’s face.

“Please,” Charles said simply. Both boys flipped their books open to the last page they had been on.


	7. Poseidon Guarding Troy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in the end notes, but beware of spoilers.

The weeks began to pass with startling speed. After those first few days, Erik took up teaching European history, French, and German. He spent some time trying to teach Sean how to build furniture, but Sean was quite nearly a hopeless case, alternating between staring blankly at the tools and excitedly throwing together pieces that made no sense. Alex, for the most part, still ignored Erik, but he was less cold than he was the first week and a half. Erik found himself seeking Alex out when something needed doing, passing him by in the hallway and informing him casually that the sink in the bathroom by Ororo’s bedroom could do with a fixing. Though Alex usually grumbled something along the vein of ‘Do it yourself, Tin Man,' at him, the sink would be fixed within the hour.

Charles was pleased at the developments of the past couple of weeks. Though he still clung to a substantial amount of anger, he discovered that it ebbed slightly with each day. Erik was chiseling away at it, slowly but surely. He would lift Scott up so that he could help the young boy put clean dishes away, and Charles felt a bit better; he would assist Hank in repairing a piece of lab equipment, and Charles found himself smiling. Though, logically, he knew his injury was an accident, the fact that Erik abandoned him was not, and he still harbored a lot of negative emotions about the whole incident. The longer Erik stayed, however, the better Charles felt.

Logan and Hank were always less than enthusiastic about Erik’s presence - Logan, because his only personal opinions on Erik before the man actually showed up were from the children, and they were less than fond of the man who they had once thought of as a role model; Hank, because he held a remarkable grudge and he could not yet bring himself to forgive Erik. He had forgiven Raven, partially; he struggled with her pregnancy, the evidence that she had left him, gotten over him, while he still waited for her. Charles felt his anger and his confusion, his mood swings that would blow hot and cold at a moment’s notice, and he tried his best to help him, to soothe him, while still not getting in his way.

Raven, too, was an entirely different story. While she insisted that she was handling her pregnancy with grace, she was, in fact, far from anything like that. She had also, in her current state, dropped any mental walls that she and Charles had built up over the years to keep themselves separate in their minds, as they had always been together physically. Charles would sometimes found himself caught by a migraine, by nausea, by various pains that did not belong to him, but they troubled him and distressed him no less for it. Erik found the whole situation vaguely amusing, which Charles less than appreciated. He told Erik as much.

Erik himself had been an enigma the past few weeks. He, like Hank, blew hot and cold; Charles struggled to keep up, though he felt Erik should be the one keeping up, catching up, making up for lost time. Erik went through the odd bout of desiring to leave, then suddenly changing his mind and deciding he never wanted to leave again, before switching back once more. The whole affair made Charles dizzy at times. However, he found himself hoping more and more with each passing day that Erik would make the executive decision to stay at the school.

As for the students, they had grown quite attached to Erik and Raven both. Raven delighted them, shifting into their favorite characters for their amusement. Erik fascinated them as he twisted metal hair pins into little airplanes and dull razors into small, rounded flowers. Charles felt a strange pang in his chest when he watched them with the children, as though this was something that was a long time coming, something that ought to stay this way if Charles had a say in it. Even Jean, who still remained silent, save in her mental, wordless pleas to Charles, took a special joy in Erik. He twisted the rungs of the shower curtains into birds for her, and she clapped. Erik had smiled, just a bit, as he made the metallic birds circle her head of violently red hair.

Charles was no stranger to Erik’s sudden appearances in his bedroom, but, he had to admit, being awoken at two-thirty in the morning by Erik standing over his bed with a box in his hands was less than desirable, and a slight bit surprising. Charles blinked himself awake, shaking the sleep from his mind.

“What can I do for you, Erik?” Charles asked tiredly, his words dragging, his voice slow. He shoved his hands back and lifted himself into a sitting position. He reached forward and shoved his legs out of the way so Erik could sit on the edge of the bed. Erik did.

“Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of…” _debating, deliberating, speaking with others,_ “...thinking, and I thought, maybe…” _you’d like this, you’d appreciate this, you’d want this,_ “...you might want to hold onto this.” He thrust the box into Charles’ hands. Charles stared at the box, then up at Erik. Erik was visibly fighting the urge to roll his eyes, as though it was _Charles’_ fault that Erik decided to wake him up and be incredibly cryptic and hesitant next to his bed. Erik was even fully dressed. The _nerve_ of some people. “You’re the genius, Charles. Open the box, now. Hop to.”

Charles narrowed his eyes slightly, but did as he was told anyways, if for no other reason than he could go back to sleep if he got this over with. He jerked back the folds holding the top of the box together and peered inside. He froze, and he felt Erik freeze, as well.

“You’re bleeding over,” Erik murmured. Charles paused, took a moment to collect himself, to force his mental walls back up despite his exhaustion.

“My apologies,” Charles said softly. Erik did not reply as Charles reached into the box and pulled out Erik’s helmet, a thing he had not seen since the day Erik had returned to the mansion, to home. _Home._

 _You’re home now,_ Charles could not stop himself from whispering into Erik’s mind. Though Erik chose not to respond, he felt the warm acknowledgement of his words regardless.

“That’s all. I just thought you might want to hold onto it,” Erik repeated. “Anyways. I’ll see you in the morning. Well, in the daylight.”

“Just go back to bed,” Charles said before Erik could continue saying too many words when there was such a small number on the clock. Erik nodded once, a stiff movement, and swept out of the room. Charles knocked the empty cardboard box onto the floor, set the helmet on the empty half of his bed, and settled back into sleep.

That night was the first nightmare he had had in two weeks. He had gotten better at controlling them with time, even as he slept, putting up so many mental walls he felt like Poseidon guarding Troy. They were a necessary evil, however, that kept his nightmares out of the minds of the children. However, he had gotten out of practice with those past couple weeks of either dreamlessness or just calm imagery, nothing too severe, and he felt it when he was shaken awake by Hank’s large, furry hand.

“You’re projecting, Charles, _wake up_!” Hank shouted in Charles’ face, clearly repeating something he had been saying over and over for quite some time. Charles shot up in bed, his eyes stinging with sweat from his brow. The boys and Logan were in his bedroom; however, he could hear Jean wailing down the hall while Ororo screamed bloody murder and Scott was shouting at her to _quiet down, ‘Ro, please, I know it’s scary, but it’s nighttime_. Charles gathered a faint impression of Raven’s mind as she tried to calm the three of them down.

“Jesus,” Logan sighed loudly, pressing his palm to his forehead. “That’s the worst it’s been in two months, at least.”

“The last one like _that_ was probably January, to be honest,” Alex corrected. Logan scratched at his scalp, his wild hair sticking up in all directions. “Since before he got control of it.”

Charles, without lifting his hand, tiredly pressed against the minds around him, gathering surface impressions of his nightmare. He saw flashes of Erik, helmet in place, beautiful and terrible before Charles, ready to strike, ready to leave, ready to destroy-

Charles inhaled sharply, his head bobbing forward slightly before he fell back against his pillow. “I’m dreadfully sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Sean said quietly. “It’s okay.”

“We know you can’t help it,” Logan added gruffly. “Don’t cry about it.”

“Maybe we can just be up for the day,” Hank suggested, his deep voice softer than usual. “I mean, it’s almost daylight anyways-”

“No, it’s a Sunday,” Charles argued. He forced himself into a sitting position once more, this time with much more difficulty. He ignored the fact that Erik was nowhere to be found, and chose not to seek out his mind. “Get back to bed, the lot of you.” Charles sought out the minds of the young children, soothing them and lulling them to sleep. He felt for Raven’s frazzled nerves, and calmed them, as well. He could almost hear her sigh. “I’m up for the day; I was going to test the new Cerebro today, in any case. Now’s as good a time as any.”

“Charles-”

“Now, Hank,” Charles interrupted. “You know as well as I do this is the only test we have.”

“Yes, Professor,” Hank agreed, though he seemed none too happy about it. “I’m awake, I’m not going to be able to fall back asleep. I’ll spot you.”

“Splendid,” Charles replied. He carefully avoided directly looking into anyone's eyes as he glanced over the men standing in his room. “The rest of you, back to bed. Again, I’m _so_ -”

“We already said you don’t got to apologize, Chuck,” Logan said, cutting Charles off effortlessly, “so don’t go wasting either of our breath. Got it?”

“Got it,” Charles agreed, smiling at his friend. “Hank, care to give me a hand?”

“Of course,” Hank said. As the rest of the people in the room filed out, Hank helped Charles into his wheelchair. Luckily, Charles had opted for his pajamas this night, and thus had no grounds for scarring Hank for life. Again.

“I’ve got to warn you, Professor, it’s not quite fully functional,” Hank cautioned him as he pushed Charles to the stairs. He slipped one arm under Charles’ knees, the other going under his arms as Charles lifted them to hold on to Hank’s neck. As they had not yet been able to build in any way for Charles to go down the steep stairs to the basement, Hank or Alex often helped him down. “There’s still some kinks I’m working out.”

“Dangerous kinks?” Charles asked, only slightly worried. He was sure the kinks were nothing he could not handle.

“We’ll see,” Hank replied, reaching the bottom step and setting Charles down in the wheelchair he kept at the foot of the stairs. He began wheeling him down the silver, metallic hallway to the entrance to the new Cerebro. “I haven’t quite perfected the entrance yet, though I’m thinking we’ll need some sort of identification system so only you can get in.”

“Splendid,” Charles murmured, gazing around the room. “Hank, this is absolutely lovely. You’ve done some top-notch work here, I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hank said quietly, locking Charles in place at the panels and stepping around him to lift the helmet. “Are you sure about this? Maybe you should rest a bit m-”

“Hank,” Charles interrupted, his fingertips grazing Hank’s wrists. Hank sighed, nodded, and settled the helmet on Charles’ head. Charles reached up, feeling the many wires leading from the equipment. Hank was looking over the readings, nodding and mumbling to himself. Charles braced himself, his fingers digging into the arms of the wheelchair.

“Ready, Professor?” Hank asked, one hand gripping a lever while the other hand hovered over a cluster of dimly-lit buttons and switches.

“Yes,” Charles confirmed. Hank threw the lever, began shoving the buttons and switches down and every which way. Charles’ grip on the chair tightened as he felt his mind stretch for miles, all across America, then further, his reach going much farther than it should. He observed each mutant, each human, taking careful mental notes of their subtle differences, their thoughts, their emotions.

 _This is too much,_ Charles realized, all at once. _This is too much-_

And a sudden awareness presented itself to him, a familiar darkness that felt unfriendly and yet somehow as though he knew it. He snapped back into his own mind like a rubber band, and he realized he was no longer connected to the machine, and was, in fact, on the floor.

“Good God-”

“What do we-”

“Call Raven down here-”

“Is he _seizing_ -”

“Call an ambulance-”

“And tell them what-”

“ _Get Erik-_ ”

“Someone get Logan-”

Charles drifted in and out, catching snippets of panic. He felt his head slam into something, but the pain was dull and far off. He sensed the flinches of those around him, unsure of whether or not it was in sympathy, or if he was projecting.

“Look…” Charles groaned, but continued trying to get the words out. “Be… _God_ , be…”

“Shh,” a voice shushed him, and Charles recognized Erik. “You pushed yourself too far. Calm down.”

“Look,” Charles repeated. “Be care.”

“Yes, of course,” Erik agreed. “We’ll do whatever you want. You just have to _calm down_ , and you have to stop projecting, okay, Charles?”

“Look-”

“Charles,” Erik said sternly. “Listen to me. You have to calm down.”

“Look, Erik, look, look-”

“Alex,” Erik sighed, standing up, leaving Charles on the cold metal of the floor. Charles tried to lift his hand, but found he could not. A surge of fear flew through him like fire, blazing, the terror that he was dying, dead, paralyzed all over-

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Alex said gravely, his face swimming into view, and all Charles saw before his consciousness left him was Alex pulling his fist back before letting it snap forward again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, be careful; this chapter involves nightmares and seizures.


	8. The United States of America and Her Interests

Charles woke up in an unfamiliar place, his senses a mess, the bed under him cold and hard-

-until he realized it was not a bed at all. It was, in fact, one of the tables in Hank’s lab. He moved to get his hands under him and push himself up, but a hand on his chest held him down. He blinked his eyes open, squinting against the harsh laboratory lights.

“What happened?” Charles asked. His words scratched his throat on their way out; he tried to clear his throat, but failed. A small, paper cup of water was held to his lips from an unknown source, but Charles drank anyways, thankful for it. The liquid soothed his throat wonderfully.

“Your mind is struggling,” Hank’s booming voice informed him from across the lab. Charles let his head rest on the table and turned his face to the side to look at Hank. “You’re doing too much at once. You pushed yourself too far with Cerebro-”

“-it was just a test-”

“-which _should not_ have been performed under the circumstances,” Hank interrupted sharply. Charles turned his head to the other side and smiled.

“Hello, Sean,” Charles greeted. Sean raised an eyebrow at him, setting the paper cup back down on one of the metallic tables.

“Hank said you decided to use Cerebro before it was ready,” Sean said, leaning against the table, his arms folded across his chest.

“It was just a test,” Charles argued. Sean shook his head.

“It’s never ‘just a test’, Professor,” Sean sighed dramatically. “Not with you and Hank.”

“I refuse to be blamed for the Professor’s momentary lapse in sanity,” Hank protested, coming to Charles’ side. “Keep still, Professor.”

Charles did as he was told, allowing Hank to work on him while Sean watched and asked a steady stream of questions. Sean and Hank both looked up at the same time several minutes into the process, Hank’s hands stilling on Charles’ head.

“What is it?” Charles asked, moving to sit up. His head swam, and he fell back against the table, pressing his palms against his forehead. “ _Shit._ ”

“Don’t swear, Charles,” Erik scolded lightly. “It’s not becoming.”

Charles let his head roll to the side so he could see Erik in the doorway. He could not help the grin that spread across his face. He blamed his condition, or whatever drugs Hank had him on that made him feel like his head was stuffed with cotton. “Hello, Erik.”

“Hello,” Erik replied, clearly amused. “Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

Charles’ brow furrowed. “Why’s that?”

“Because,” Erik explained, sitting on the edge of the table Charles was laying on, “we just got a call from S.H.I.E.L.D., and it seems that something made the circuits on their Mutant Recognition System go haywire at the exact same time you were strapped into Cerebro.” Erik grinned. “Imagine that.”

Charles blinked at him, then smiled back. “That’s exciting! Cerebro’s working, then, better than I even could have imagined-”

“It most certainly is _not_ working,” Hank interrupted, resuming his work. Erik watched Hank’s hands move; Sean watched Erik. “Not as long as you keep getting hurt in it. I swear, Professor, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Only if you’re lucky,” Charles murmured, the cotton sensation ebbing and flowing. “What did you give me, Hank?”

Hank’s features morphed into an expression of confusion. “Uhm. Nothing. Why? Do you want some painkillers?”

Charles sat up quickly, knocking Hank’s hands out of the way. Erik immediately reached out and steadied him; Charles grabbed Erik’s wrist.

“Which base called?” Charles demanded. Erik frowned.

“The base in D.C., why does that-”

“Help me into my wheelchair,” Charles ordered. Sean leaned forward, uncrossing his arms. Erik stood up. “Don’t question me. Just do it.”

“Sure,” Erik agreed, motioning for Hank to step away. Hank did so, but Charles caught him by the shoulder.

“Go get Logan, get Alex, get Raven and the children, take them down into the bunker, don’t come out until Erik or I say,” Charles instructed carefully. “Do you understand me?”

“Why Logan?” Sean asked. Charles looked over his shoulder at him.

“Because someone has to stay with you in case-” Charles turned back around. “Just, in case. They’ll want Logan.” Charles swallowed and hardened his expression. “Do as I say.”

Sean and Hank both nodded and sprinted from the lab. Charles felt the vaguest sensations of their minds as Erik helped him into his wheelchair.

“My reach didn’t just go into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s systems,” Charles said, replying to the confusion that layered Erik’s distant mind. He struggled to grab at the impressions he got through the fog. “It got to someone else, and they’re here- they’re in my head-”

Charles was cut off by a blinding pain inside his head. His mouth opened in a silent scream; he pressed the heels of his hands into his temples. He struggled to catch his breath once the pain disappeared, and he became dimly aware of Erik saying his name.

“Charles, Charles, look at me,” Erik kept repeating, firmly. Charles finally realized his eyes had shut, and he blinked them open, staring up at Erik.

“They’re in my head,” Charles said again. His head swiveled to the side when he caught an impression of an intruder quickly approaching the house. Suddenly, a great many intruders became plain to him, and he felt as though the cotton had been removed from his head. “They’ve disabled their system.” Charles reached out and grabbed Erik’s hands. “Listen to me. They want me, they don’t even know you and the children are here. They only know that I’m here.”

“Charles, you can’t-”

“You’re going to go down to the bunker,” Charles ordered, ignoring Erik’s protest, “and you’re going to keep everyone down there. I don’t care if you have to melt the door in place, nobody is coming out of there until you know, without a doubt, that it’s safe.”

“I should stay up here and fight with you,” Erik argued. Charles shook his head.

“I’m trusting you with what is most precious to me,” Charles informed him softly. “And that is by far more important. Do you understand?”

Erik hesitated, then nodded once, sharply. Charles released his hands, only to have Erik surge forward, trapping Charles’ wrists and fitting their mouths together. Charles bit back a gasp of surprise and settled for a sigh, which only prompted Erik into coaxing his mouth open. Charles withdrew sharply when another wave of intense pain filled his mind. When it subsided, Erik was still holding his wrists, their faces a hair’s breadth apart.

“I’m trusting you with what is most precious to me,” Erik murmured, his words an echo of Charles’. “Do you understand?”

“I do,” Charles breathed, out of breath from both the kiss and the pain. Erik kissed him once more, quickly, forcefully, then dashed from the lab in the direction of the bunker. Charles, his arms weaker than he was used to, wheeled himself from the lab into the front room. The door burst open as he entered, a pulse of government workers falling over themselves, hurtling like an avalanche into his home.

“Charles Xavier,” one of them said, a deep, booming voice that carried down the hall. “You have been identified as a danger to the United States of America and to her interests, and you…”

Charles let the words fade out as he instead focused on the minds of the other occupants of the school. He felt the door snap shut through Erik’s mind, felt the hum of the metal as he sealed it so only someone who could manipulate metal like he could could get through it. He braced himself.

 _Make sure everyone is laying down,_ Charles said softly into Erik’s mind. _Yourself included. Just do it._

 _Okay,_ Erik agreed. Charles felt everyone’s confusion as Erik relayed the order, but they did so anyways. Charles was immensely relieved as Erik, too, laid down on the floor.

 _You’re going to be safe,_ Charles whispered to them all before he knocked them out using his mind. He pulled away from their minds quickly, coming back into his own to hear the man who had been speaking snap at him, clearly frustrated and impatient.

“I repeat,” the voice was saying from behind its helmet, “Is there anyone else here in the house?”

“No,” Charles answered. “Just me.”

The man who was speaking turned to the man beside him and nodded. The man pulled out a suspicious-looking black box instrument, and turned a dial. Charles gasped out loud, his head falling into his lap, his hands clutching his skull. When the pain finally died down, the blazing fire vanishing from his mind, Charles lashed out, mentally attacking anyone near him, being sure to keep anything from leaking through into the minds of those in the bunker beneath the school.

Charles was dimly aware of the shouts of those around him, but more came through the front door. He fought to pull them in, as well, but an overwhelming number was beginning to fill his mind. He breathed heavily, drops of sweat rolling down his face, as his hands shot out and he fell forward out of his chair, his equilibrium shot.

“There’s no one else here,” a woman’s voice shouted. “It’s just him.”

Charles laughed, once, and then lost himself to nothingness with a sharp, silent shot in his temple.


	9. Bingo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike any other chapter, this chapter is from Erik's point of view. See end notes for possible trigger warnings.

When Erik awoke, he could feel that the sensations of the vans were already gone, the guns long since vanished. He scrambled to his feet and found that everyone else was already standing around. Alex looked torn between waiting for Erik and just blasting through the door when Erik looked to him. Ororo moved to Erik anxiously, clinging to his pant leg, and he bent down to lift her up, clutching her tightly.

Erik knew without anyone speaking that there was no one left upstairs; he knew this, without a doubt, and this was the only reason he opened the door. He knew Charles had been taken, the metal of his wristwatch and of his cuff (which Erik had insisted he keep around his ankle for exactly such a situation, and had fashioned himself for Charles) nowhere within his range. He held onto Ororo tightly as she sniffled into his shoulder, plainly terrified and unable to fully comprehend what was going on. Lightning cracked ominously outside, thunder rolling in more quickly than was natural as rain began pouring down like cold bullets, all of this directly above them and plainly audible through the walls of the bunker.

“Shh,” Erik shushed the girl, trying to bounce her up and down as he had once done with Anya while he ran up the stairs into the front room. He could hear Alex hot on his heels, Logan right behind him, the familiar warmth and hum of his skeleton dogging his footsteps. He skidded to a halt halfway into the room, nearly tripping over Charles’ toppled wheelchair. A small puddle of blood was beginning to sink into the rug. Sean lifted Ororo out of Erik’s grasp as the metal in the room began to shake violently.

“Oh, no,” Raven exclaimed breathlessly, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Ororo’s crying continued while Scott’s anger started to boil over. He fell from Alex’s hold and sprinted out of the house. Alex chased after him, shouting his younger brother’s name.

“Professor!” Scott screamed into the bright sunlight outside. He continued running until his small legs gave out, and he fell to a kneel in the grass, staining the knees of his jeans green. He hiccupped, and Alex finally caught up with him, wrapping himself around his brother. Scott screamed again, a wordless sound, and Alex murmured something low in his ear. The boy pressed his face into his older brother’s chest, and Alex lifted him as though he weighed an ounce, carrying him back to the house. He breezed past Erik.

“Alex,” Hank said softly. Alex came to a sudden stop beside Hank, and Hank let a hand rest on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” Alex insisted. “I know it will be. We’ll get him back.”

“Just making sure you knew,” Hank said. He shifted, leaning forwards to press their foreheads together. Alex shut his eyes and exhaled slowly. Jean pressed the palm of her hand flat against Scott’s cheek. Scott tipped his head forward.

“It’s going to be okay,” Alex echoed. Hank nodded, both of their heads moving as he did so. Erik left them there and ran outside. He shut his eyes and raised his hands in front of him, his palms facing outwards. He felt as far as his range would allow, and could feel Charles nowhere. He could not be sure they had not taken the watch and cuff off of him, but he had no other options than to run on what he knew.

“Can you feel him?” Logan asked gruffly, appearing at Erik’s side out of nowhere. Erik shook his head. Logan just turned and started heading back inside. “Better get started on looking, then.”

Erik jogged after him to catch up. “Where, exactly, do you plan on starting?”

Logan barely looked at Erik as he replied. “Where do you think Charles would start?”

Erik paused, his steps stuttering to a halt. “He’d use his gifts.”

“Bingo,” Logan murmured as he dashed up the steps and came to a halt in front of Hank. Erik was surprised to watch him ignore Hank in favor of ducking his head down to Jean’s eye level. “Hey, kid. We’re going to need your help.”

Jean stared at him with wide eyes before turning to Hank. Hank nodded once to her, and she reached out, pressing her palm to Logan’s cheek. Logan grinned at her, then motioned for Erik to come forward. Erik had never had too much interaction with Jean; he had no subjects to teach her, and she much preferred the company of Hank and the small children over him. Hell, she seemed to enjoy most everyone over him, but Erik just assumed that was leftover from the connection she had with Charles. He was certain he was never painted in a pretty light in Charles’ mind before - and for quite some time after - his return. Because of this, she had never offered to share her mind with Erik, and Erik had never pushed her to. Now, however, was different; even Jean, the youngest child, seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. She held her hand up, palm out, and waited for Erik to slide into place for her.

Charles’ and Erik’s lives had crashed into each other after they had reached adulthood, and Erik had met Emma even later in his life after that. He had never experienced a child telepath, especially since Charles worked so well with Jean to help her keep herself under control. All this made for an experience Erik was not quite prepared for when his and Jean’s minds connected, and, like Charles had said, she used no words, but her images and impressions were enough to understand her. He watched as her mind scanned through her range for Charles, and he watched as Charles was located.

Jean released him, leaving him with a sense of fear and abandonment that only served to double his own terror. She looked up at him with her warm, soft-colored eyes, and Erik snapped to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of blood.


	10. James Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for possible trigger warnings.

“Good God,” Charles groaned when he heard the rusted gate of his cell swing open again. He raised his head to look at the two muscled goons who had just entered his cell. “Do the lot of you ever take breaks? You must be exhausted, I can’t even imagine.”

“You’re a regular riot, James Bond,” one of the men grumbled as they each took one of Charles’ arms and hoisted him up. Charles let his head roll onto the shoulder of the man who had spoken.

“I must admit, as far as insults go, that’s a shabby one,” Charles said, frowning. “Bond’s brilliant. I suppose you just called me James Bond because I’m British, but it’s not exactly a bad thing to be called. Did you see the films? Of course you did, you’re not _daft_ -”

“Listen, limey,” the other man spoke up, ignoring Charles’ murmur of, “Ooh, _limey_ , that’s _much_ better.” “You’re going to shut up and do as we say. Got it?”

“I most certainly have got it, my friend,” Charles agreed. He moved his chained hands up, tapping at his forehead with one fingertip. His other hand dangled from the wrist of the hand at his forehead. “Thing is, though, without my power - which you’ve so rudely taken from me, thanks again for that - I’m shit with social skills. Can’t tell when the other person’s uncomfortable, that sort of thing. So, you see, I just sort of _babble_. It’s dreadful, really. My sister tells me I’m just the _worst_ at parties, and-”

“That’s it,” the first man spoke up. He tugged Charles away from the second man, holding onto Charles’ upper arms to keep him upright.

“Oh, that’s going to bruise,” Charles sighed at the man’s grip on his left arm. The man’s fingers tightened into his bare skin.

“You’re going to shut up, you little fuckface, do you hear me?” the man snarled in Charles’ face. Charles put on the most frightened expression he could, trying not to flinch when the movement pulled at the open wounds that dragged from his temples down to his chin.

“Loud and clear,” Charles choked out. The man, seemingly satisfied, was content to drag Charles the rest of the way. The path to the dome chamber was familiar to Charles now, though he had lost track of how long he had been in the facility. His cell was awful; the walls, the floor, the ceiling - all were hard, cold metal. There was nothing in the cell, and when Charles says nothing, he means _nothing_ , save for him. He presumed his clothing had been stripped from him when he entered the facility; he had, of course, been unconscious from when he was knocked out in his home to when he woke up in his cell an indeterminate amount of time later.

He had lost track of time quite a while ago. His grasp of time was tenuous in the first place, not having known how long he had been in the facility when he finally woke up. In his time there, however, he had been brought to the dome chamber sixteen times, and he had met forty different muscular fools, all covered from the crowns of their heads to the soles of their feet in black, who only served to drag him around, abuse him, shove dirty water and beyond-questionable moldy bread in his cell, and irritate him endlessly. He had been knocked unconscious by the fools eighteen times, and knocked unconscious by the dome chamber fourteen times. He had been physically abused fifty-six times, and mentally abused sixty-seven times. They had a machine somewhere in the facility - though Charles was yet to find it - that was hindering his abilities, stifling him, drowning his mind as though they had sliced his skull open and filled it with water. The machine was somehow connected to a horrible knit cap-like mess they taped and strapped onto his head. It was digging into his scalp, tiny pinpricks all over that were latched into his skin, and Charles knew better than to try to take it off himself.

The dome chamber was, quite honestly, worse than anything else he had experienced in the facility. They had explained what the reasoning was behind their experiments the first time they brought him to the chamber. This obscure government agency - Charles struggled to even recall their name - had tried to construct Cerebro again, and they wanted Charles to locate mutants so that they could round them up and collect them, isolating them from society. Charles expected they desired to keep the mutants they wanted him to find for them in a facility like this, if not worse - though Charles could hardly imagine how much worse they could make it.

The man dropped him on the floor, ignoring the way Charles’ sensationless legs crumpled underneath him. The other man painfully yanked the cap off Charles’ head, strapped the helmet on, and stood back, allowing the first man to flip the switches on the frankly medieval panel to the Charles’ left.

“This’ll be the winner, then, won’t it, Xavier?” the buff man at the panel laughed. “Today’s the day you give us those locations, innit? Boss says it should be any day now.”

“Boss knows not of what he speaks,” Charles said softly, his head hanging down, his eyes on the grated floor beneath him. The man to Charles’ right snapped his fingers.

“Right, almost forgot ‘bout the wood,” the man exclaimed. He fished in a pocket for something, and Charles’ eyes slipped shut as the man shoved the crude wooden mouthpiece into place in Charles’ mouth and latched it shut at the back of his head. “Don’t want him screaming his fool head off.”

“No, not at all,” the man at the panel agreed smugly. “Don’t want the Queen here biting his sarcastic little tongue off, do we?”

“Not at all,” the second man echoed. “Start ‘er up, Xavier’s all ready.”

“Beautiful.” The man at the panel threw the switch, an audible click that was already starting a Pavlovian response in Charles’ body; his muscles all tensed up, and his teeth all sank into the wood as he was forced to fight back the scream. He felt his body seize as he detached from himself, but he kept himself in his own mind, forcibly directing himself away from identification of any persons. He knew his sides were being shocked, but he could barely feel it anymore. He was certain they were tearing his body apart but here, above himself, he felt nothing save the stings in his own head. His struggle to keep their version of Cerebro from working was half a battle with himself and half a battle with the poorly-constructed machine, and the abuse and tests that had been so greatly showered upon him were weighing on him, dragging him down like lead tied to his ankles.

He was yanked out of the machine sharply, the helmet jerked off his head and the cap shoved harshly back into place. Charles only just kept himself from flinching with each new, yet familiar, pain. He sighed raggedly into the wooden mouthpiece, his throat raw from screams that never made it out. The second man tugged the mouthpiece free and tossed it to the side.

“Maybe next time,” the first man said as they hefted Charles up again and began dragging him back to his cell. Charles listened to the small _pings_ of his blood raining onto the metal hallway floor beneath them. His temples were soaked and raw, blood streaming down his face from them, and he fought unconsciousness with the kind of sick familiarity he wished he had never had the displeasure of knowing. A dull _boom_ in the distance caused the two men leading Charles back to his cell to freeze in their footsteps. The metal walls rattled, then crinkled in on themselves. Charles could not help the laughter that started falling out of his mouth of its own accord, sounding hysterical and insane even to his own ears, but he could not stop it. He was dropped onto the floor, his body folding in on itself like a rag doll. The men who had been holding him up were screaming now; one of them lost his head, then the other, their bodies hitting the floor on either side of Charles while their heads rolled away. One of them stopped right in front of Charles’ face, and he could not bring himself to look away. Without blinking, he reached forward and tugged the black cloth mask from the man’s face. He was once beautiful, Charles recognized, but had since become hideous, his face contorted and violet, his eyes dark and his nose bulbous. He clutched the mask in his hand like it was a life jacket and let his head press against the cold floor.

“I found him!” a woman’s voice yelled, and, oh, God, _Raven_ , they got _Raven_ , he can _not_ let them have his sister-

-except Raven seemed fine as she knelt beside him, pulling his head into her lap. “Oh, God, Charles, what have they done?”

“Raven, are you okay?” Charles forced out. His words were beginning to blend together in his mouth, and he thanked God that Raven still understood him. She smiled at him, but it did not touch her eyes. It was a watery, grotesque smile, and it had no place on his sister’s face. He wanted it gone immediately, and he regretted speaking words that would bring it there in the first place, even if he could not quite remember the words he had, in fact, spoken.

“I’m fine, Charles,” Raven assured him, running her blue hand down his cheek. Her palm was soft. She pulled the mask from his hand. “I’m fine, Charles, I’m fine, don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“Calm down, Raven,” Charles murmured, his eyes slipping shut. He reached out and clasped Raven’s other hand in one of his. “It’s alright now. You’re alright.”

Raven shifted, and a groan slipped through Charles’ clenched teeth. Raven pressed her lips to his forehead.

“I can’t feel him,” Raven said, her face pulling away from him and clearly turning towards someone else. “He has this thing on his head-”

“Yes, that.” Charles shifted, freeing the hand that had been trapped under his body. “They usually remove it for me, but they’re none too careful, so I’ll just…” Charles trailed off, lifting his hand and yanking the cap off as though it were a band-aid, one smooth rip out of his head. He ground his teeth together to keep quiet. A dozen or so minds all swam into his at once, and he sighed. It was overwhelming, yes, but even this was better than the nothingness he had been forced into for longer than he liked. “There we are.”

“Good Lord,” Logan’s voice spat. “Chuck, I get that you’re feelin’ good about gettin’ your senses back, but you’re projecting like hell, man.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Charles murmured, pressing his face into Raven’s stomach. “I didn’t mean to, honestly. It just feels so good.” Charles sighed again. “Sean- where’s Sean? Sean, your mind feels _brilliant_.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Sean said softly. Charles reached a hand out blindly, and Sean knelt beside him, taking the hand and guiding it to his own face. Charles let his fingers smooth over Sean’s skin, and he smiled, imagining he could feel his freckles. Sean laughed. “We’re going to get you home, okay, Professor?”

This sent a surge of terror through Charles. “We can’t go home. The school’s been compromised, we can’t-”

“Where do you think Alex and Hank are?” Sean asked. He shrugged out of his jacket and placed it over Charles respectfully. “They’re securing the school. We’ve got a couple friends in the government, you know, and they’re not exactly in low places.”

 _Moira._ “Have you-”

“We had to,” Sean confessed, knowing what Charles was going to ask before he even got the chance to ask. “She’s safe, though. I made sure.”

Charles grinned widely at the sensation of tenderness and adoration that pulsed from Sean to him. “Why, Sean, I had no idea.”

“Don’t get all silly about it,” Sean grumbled under his breath as another wonderfully familiar mind entered the hall. The metal walls crumpling and the necklace-decapitations were suddenly brought back to the forefront of Charles’ mind as he turned his head to look at Erik. Raven withdrew as Erik fell to his knees beside Charles and clutched him close before either of them could utter a word.

“You are never going into a fight without me again,” Erik growled in Charles’ ear. Charles struggled to get an arm around Erik but, once he did, he felt triumphant. He shoved the pain back, focusing on what was going on around him rather than what was going on inside of him.

“My friend, we were in this fight together the whole time,” Charles replied. When Erik’s mind shifted slightly towards confusion, Charles just smiled into his neck. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Erik held Charles closer, pressing a hard kiss to his cheek, to his neck, to any part of him that was not pulsing blood or throbbing with unnatural colors.

“I’m all for the love fest,” another female voice said, and Charles recognized Emma Frost, “but we’ve got to get going, boys. And Raven.” He blinked at her, trying to get a read of her mind, before he realized she was in her diamond form.

“Your space feels cold,” Charles blurted, his mind leaking and his filter nonexistent. The brain-to-mouth comprehension sector of his brain certainly must be malfunctioning. Emma shot him a dry look. “Not like Erik’s. Erik’s is warm.”

“Pity I’m not more like Erik,” she deadpanned. “Seriously, though. Let’s hit the road before more feds show up and realize a bunch of mutants broke their truly lovely facility.”

“I’ve been calling it a facility, too,” Charles informed her sunnily. “We could be mates.”

Emma looked at him incredulously before she just shrugged, a dainty lift of one glittering diamond shoulder. “I suppose we could be... _mates_ , darling, if we really put our minds to it.” She clapped her rocky hands together. “Okay, then, hop to, let’s get a move on. I, for one, cannot wait to get this man to a medical professional. And before you say anything, Cassidy, your friend Beast does _not_ count as a medical professional.”

Charles, his head still resting on Erik’s shoulder, stared blankly at Emma in all her hardened, diamond glory, then frowned as another thought rushed his mind. It fell out of his mouth before he could think. “You’ve not come for Erik, have you? It has been about three months, hasn’t it? Oh, heavens, I didn’t even think about this, I’m not ready for him to leave home again, not when I-”

“Charles,” Erik interrupted, and Charles allowed Erik to pull away so they could look at each other’s faces. “I’m not leaving.”

At that, Charles grinned, his head falling forward to collide with Erik’s. He pushed his face upwards until their foreheads were pressed together.

“I wasn’t sure, but I’d hoped-”

“It turns out that there’s a very good reason for me to stay,” Erik explained. His face was still hard; he was not smiling, not like Charles was, and Charles was struggling to understand why. They had found him, Erik was staying - why not smile? “But, Charles, I’m not giving up on my fight.”

“You forget,” Charles said, his words only slurring a bit, “that I’m fighting, too. I just prefer - less violence, more…”

“Charles,” Erik sighed. Charles shut his eyes.

“More Charles?” He hummed under his breath. “No, that’s not right. More Erik.”

“He needs to go to a hospital,” Sean said urgently. Charles felt himself moved until someone was carrying him, the jacket over him being adjusted and tightened, and they were leaving the facility. Charles forced his eyes open, and spread his mind out as far as he could until he found the outside.

“Turn right,” he said to no one in particular. Luckily, they actually _did_ listen to him, rather than simply dismissing his words as more rambling. “Left.” And they all turned left, and Charles smiled at them. “See, down that hallway to our left.”

Erik’s grip on Charles was mercifully loose, but his fingers tightened into the jacket and into Charles’ skin when they were jogging down the hallway lined with cells. Charles reached out to the bars, and Erik skittered to a stop. Sean narrowly avoided colliding with Erik’s back.

“What the hell, let’s go-”

“This one?” Erik asked, his voice low and terrifying in Charles’ ear. Charles nodded once, a pathetic bob of his head, and Erik shifted Charles' weight so that he could extend a hand to the cell. Charles watched as the small, cold, metal cell, its floor and walls smeared with his own dried blood, crumpled in on itself like an oversized soda can. The sounds it made were horrendous, and they made Charles laugh hysterically, his fingers tightening on the bar he had grabbed. When Erik was finished crushing the room, he pried Charles’ fingers from the bar and took off once more. Charles clung tightly to Erik’s hand, not allowing him to pull it away, and shut his eyes again.

“Right,” Charles said, his voice muffled a bit by Erik’s shirt, and felt the sharp turn as they went right. “Take- take the next right, then two lefts after that, and another right, and then we’ll be outside.”

“Charles,” Raven breathed, her frightened mind so close to his. He tipped his head back and forced his eyes open once more.

“Raven, it’s going to be quite alright,” Charles murmured. “Have I ever lied to you?”

Charles just barely missed Raven’s whispered _yes_ , but he did miss it, turning his face back into Erik’s chest.

“Charles, just go to sleep,” Erik insisted. Charles shook his head.

“I might project,” Charles explained, “and I can’t do that right now.”

Erik paused, then nodded. Charles closed his eyes tightly as they burst outside, the sunlight stinging his sensitive eyes. Erik tucked Charles’ head under his chin and barrelled on. With each of Erik’s steps, Charles felt his resolve weakening, his burst of strength and adrenaline seeping out of him. He walled off his own mind and kept the pain inside, a snarling, rabid dog pouncing on a chain-link fence. He grit his teeth and struggled not to make any sounds, even as he became supremely aware of each different wound not on his legs or feet, how each movement stung him and caused his very core to tremble, how one of Erik’s hands was pressing into a smarting bruise, _God_ , everything was too sensitive, too much-

“Oh my God,” Hank’s voice penetrated the walls, and Charles fought not to crumble. “Oh my God- get him in the car, Erik, come here, oh my _God_ -”

“Someone take Jean-”

And Charles dragged his face from Erik’s chest. “Is Jean here?” he asked out loud, even as he sought out her mind with his. He sighed when she began pushing waves of serenity and calm in his direction, even as he attempted to spare her any of his pain.

“Put him in the car, Erik- Alex, give Jean to Charles- there, that’s good, like that,” Hank instructed. Charles was pressed into the corner of the back seat, tucked into Erik’s side, Jean on his lap. She had both hands secured on his face, holding tightly to him, ignoring everything around her. Her palms were stained pink.

 _Lovely, Jean, thank you,_ Charles murmured into her mind. Waves of pleasure and pride swept through their connection from both sides, and Charles smiled at her. Jean snuggled into his chest, keeping her grip on his head secure, and fell asleep. Charles tipped his head back against the headrest and counted each pothole the car hit as they traveled.

“Do you know who it was?” Charles asked, grasping for anything to distract him. “Who got me, do you know? They mentioned- They mentioned odd bits, but I didn't get... I didn't get much.”

“A specialized, top-secret branch of the U.S. Government,” Moira’s voice said. Charles craned his neck to look around Erik, and he located Moira at the other end of the back seat. “They got a reading on you when Cerebro malfunctioned, and they found you.” Moira’s expression went black. “It won’t be happening again.”

“We ensured that,” Raven said sunnily. “Turns out, if they think you’re the President, they’ll do basically anything.”

“And when the President thinks he told them to call off the search,” Emma added, “he’ll do basically anything.” Emma grinned at Charles, finally out of her diamond form. Charles frowned at them, but found he could not be too angry at them at all. His head fell to the side, pressing against Erik’s upper arm. The movement brought Erik to the forefront of his mind, and he used that to push the pain back.

“I missed you,” Charles murmured, “so much.” Erik maneuvered Charles so he could slip an arm across his shoulders and pull him closer.

“I missed you, too,” Erik assured him. “I’m happy we found you.”

“I mean that,” Charles said, “but that’s not what I meant.”

“Okay?”

“I mean,” Charles began, his eyes slipping shut tiredly, “that I’ve missed you, very much. You’ve been gone for so very long, Erik, and I just…”

“Hey,” Erik said softly, and Charles wanted to laugh, because nothing about Erik was ever _soft_ , surely he must still be in his cell, asleep, they will be back soon to shock him awake, drag him to the dome chamber, run tests on him again-

“Hey,” Erik said again, more firmly this time. “It’s alright, Charles. I’m here now, understand? Do you understand that? I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand that?”

“Of course,” Charles sighed, turning his face upwards. “I’m so sorry. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know, Charles, don’t apologize.” Erik pressed his lips to Charles’ forehead, and he stayed there for several pathetic beats of Charles’ heart, unmoving, unwilling to let go. Charles felt Erik’s mind prodding at his, their connection still very much present, but he pushed it away.

“If you come in right now, you’re not going to like it,” Charles explained quietly. Erik nodded, and pulled his mouth away, only to tip Charles’ head back down for him and rest his cheek on the crown of Charles’ head.

“We’re going to fix you up,” Erik promised. “It’s all going to be okay. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Charles assured him. “I understand, Erik, I do, I promise, Erik, I-”

“Shh.” The sound vibrated in Erik’s throat, warming Charles even as it shook him to his core. “Calm down, Charles.”

“I’m so sorry,” Charles murmured. Erik nodded.

“I know,” Erik said. “Me, too.”

 _Eighteen potholes,_ Charles thought to himself as the car jostled. _Eighteen- eighteen potholes, two until twenty, twelve until thirty..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood, torture, injuries, imprisonment, madness, et cetera.


	11. Trigger Words

“I’m not an invalid, Erik, please,” Charles insisted, shooing Erik’s hands away as he wheeled himself up the ramp that Alex and Sean had constructed for him at the front door. At Erik’s knowing look, Charles just scowled. “Okay, fine, I _may be_ an invalid, but I still can do things myself. I have been for quite some time, you’ll recall.”

Erik shut his mouth and lingered at the bottom of the ramp, watching as Charles reached the top and looked over his shoulder.

“See?” Charles said, tauntingly, smiling. Erik nodded, his hands in his pockets, and walked up the ramp to stand beside him.

“I do see,” Erik agreed, “and of course you can do things yourself.”

Charles felt the uncertainty sharpening Erik’s thoughts, and he did his best to smooth it away. “It’s quite alright, Erik, I understand, I do.”

Erik reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of the bandage that was wrapped around Charles’ head. “I just want…”

“I know,” Charles assured him, wheeling away from him into the house. Erik shut the door behind them. “I’m glad to be home, I’ll be honest. That hospital was dreadful, it was so _dull_ , I couldn’t stand another minute there.”

“It’s meant to be relaxing, not a party,” Erik reminded him. Charles chuckled.

“It’s not meant to kill its patients, either, and I was very nearly bored to death,” Charles said dramatically. Erik rolled his eyes, and Charles just smiled at him.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Erik pointed out. Charles simply continued to wheel himself forward, towards the kitchen, where his students and Moira were already gathered for lunch. Sean looked up first and awarded Charles with a face-splitting grin.

“It’s good to have you back, Professor,” Sean said, an undertone of excitement in his voice nearly taking over his words. The heads of the room’s other occupants all snapped up at once, and they all smiled at him in near-synchronization. Charles laughed.

“You’re all delightful, and only slightly frightening.” Charles pushed himself forward to his customary spot at the kitchen table. Moira elbowed in next to him, in the seat Erik usually took, leaving Erik to lean against the counter. Hank passed him a sandwich, and Erik ate standing up, watching Charles mildly.

“We’re going to have to move into the dining room eventually,” Alex said, grabbing Scott by the scruff of his neck and dragging him back into his seat. “Eat,” Alex ordered his brother. Scott stuck his tongue out, but proceeded to eat anyways, shoving half of one of his sandwich triangles into his mouth.

“If we keep getting students,” Charles allowed, “which I certainly hope we do.”

“You’ve got a stack of letters that suggest we may be getting quite a few very soon, Professor,” Hank informed him, and Charles smiled at him as he set a plate down in front of him.

“Thank you very much, Hank,” Charles said, taking a bite of his sandwich before turning to Moira. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ms. MacTaggert. I have to apologize again-”

“And I still won’t hear of it,” Moira interrupted. “Like I told you in the hospital, I understand. I appreciate you hiding my memories, though. Instead of just taking them."

"How'd you do that, anyways?" Erik asked, barely looking up from his examination of the sandwich Hank made for him.

"I used a trigger word," Charles answered, glancing to Moira, who was blushing, just a bit.

“And what, pray tell, was your trigger word?” Erik asked, his tone polite at the surface level.

“Banshee,” Moira said, turning to look over her shoulder. Sean blushed a brilliant red and ducked his head so far down he nearly flattened his sandwich when Erik turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Banshee?” Erik repeated, grinning cheekily. “I see. And why-”

“Why isn’t important,” Sean interrupted harshly, his voice too loud to be casual. “What’s important is that Moira’s back, excellent, we have someone _sane_ in this place again.”

“Indeed,” Erik said, a hint of mocking in his tone. Sean shot a glare at him, but Erik just took another bite of his sandwich, his expression one of delight.

“Asshole,” Sean muttered into his bread. Ororo’s small mouth popped open.

“Sean, that’s a _bad word_ ,” Ororo informed him gravely, her high voice hushed as she leaned towards him. “We can’t say bad words in front of the Professor.”

“You shouldn’t be saying bad words at all,” Charles said suspiciously. Ororo turned to him with a frown.

“But Mr. Lehnsherr said-”

“Never mind what Mr. Lehnsherr said,” Erik interrupted gruffly. Charles twisted around in his wheelchair to give Erik a judgemental look, which Erik narrowly avoided by finishing the last of his lunch and beginning to collect the empty plates. “Haven’t you all got classes? Alex, Sean, I think I remember that today is your day to train.”

With the children sufficiently distracted, Charles scowled at Erik. Erik shrugged and smiled, and Charles could not help himself but to smile back.

Charles found all his spare time being taken up for the entire day. The whole thing awfully suspicious to him, but he did not have an extra second to pause and deliberate whether or not he was being plotted against. However, even the children needed to sleep sometime, and Charles was alone in his study by eleven. He had glanced towards his bedroom on his way to the study, but he knew he would only lay there for hours before he eventually just fell asleep out of exhaustion, so he figured he may as well get some work done.

He was halfway through grading an essay by Sean that was more half-fever dream, half-rant against society than actual essay when there was a knock at the door of his study. He jumped, unused to being surprised - but then, he was not performing at peak condition yet.

“Yes, come in,” Charles said, turning back to the paper. The door creaked open, and he glanced up briefly. He then did a double-take, and set his pen aside when it was Erik standing in the doorway.

“Are you busy?” Erik asked, looking over Charles’ papers. Charles shuffled them into a neat stack and set them aside.

“I’m not,” Charles assured him. “Sean did not exactly understand my assignment, it seems. It can wait.”

“Did he not understand,” Erik inquired, shutting the door behind him and crossing to stand in front of Charles’ desk, “or did he just do whatever he wanted?”

“I’m afraid he was likely just under the influence,” Charles answered, trying not to smile. Erik raised an eyebrow.

“You say that like you’ve never dabbled, Charles.”

“They don’t need to know that,” Charles said, sternly, though he had given up on trying not to smile and was grinning a bit. “Anyways, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I know you noticed what the children were doing today.” Erik pulled one of the chairs in front of the desk closer and sat down across from Charles.

“I would have to be brain-dead not to have noticed,” Charles said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. Erik’s brow furrowed slightly.

“How are you feeling?” Erik asked. He scratched absently at the back of his head, rubbed at the back of his neck. Charles raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fine. Why?”

“Because you’re not.” Erik shut his eyes, briefly. “You’re not fine, I mean. You’re lying.”

Charles frowned. “I’m-”

“Charles,” Erik interrupted, his tone one of warning. “I know you.”

Charles watched Erik’s face, and neither of them spoke for a moment before Erik cleared his throat and continued. “I know you, and I know when you’re fine. Is there… Can I do anything?”

“There’s nothing that can be done,” Charles said simply. “I just have to work on it. There won’t be an easy fix for this.”

“Are you feeling well?” Erik asked bluntly. Charles blinked. “Physically, I mean. Outside of your head.”

“I’ve felt better, but I feel much better than I did yesterday, and even better than the day before that,” Charles answered. “It’ll take time.”

“You really don’t-” Erik stopped himself, then started again. “What can I do?”

“Erik, I told you-”

“And I’m telling you, I’ll do whatever you need me to do,” Erik said sincerely. Charles looked him over before he leaned back in his wheelchair. He watched Erik’s eyes dart up to the bandage on his head before he averted his gaze. “What do you need me to do?”

Charles felt a pressure inside his mind, and he rejected it instinctually, shocking it out of his head. Erik physically recoiled, and two of Charles’ pens snapped in half, seemingly of their own accord. Charles shut his eyes tightly and gripped the arms of his wheelchair, his knuckles going white as he fought to keep his mind from reaching out and attacking Erik’s. He felt warmth against the sides of his head, and his eyes snapped open. He looked up at Erik, who had, at some point, gotten up and knelt in front of Charles. His head was held firmly between Erik’s hands.

“Look at me, Charles,” Erik ordered, and Charles forced himself to do so. “Good. I’m sorry, I didn’t think- I didn’t think.”

“It’s quite alright,” Charles said, a bit breathless. “I’ve just got to work on it. They did a number on me, I’m afraid.”

“I’m afraid, too,” Erik said softly. Charles reached up and touched Erik’s wrists, and Erik dropped his hands, seemingly just remembering that he was holding onto Charles’ head.

“Don’t be afraid,” Charles said. “I have faith in you.”

“This isn’t about me, Charles. Not this time.” Erik moved to stand, but Charles kept his hold on Erik’s wrists and kept them at eye level. Charles pulled one of Erik’s hands closer and pressed his lips to the inside of his wrist, feeling particularly bold, though his heart was leaping into his throat.

“I trust you,” Charles said, tightening his grip on Erik’s wrists just a bit. Erik stared at Charles' mouth before his eyes flickered up to meet Charles’. “So, you have to trust me.”

“I do,” Erik replied, and Charles did not miss how pained it sounded, as though he had to force the words out. Charles leaned forward and let Erik move to match him until their foreheads were pressed together.

“We’ll work on it,” Charles said softly. Erik nodded.


	12. Different, Just Like You

“I see you’ve got them working their very hardest,” Erik deadpanned as he stepped into Charles’ study two weeks after Charles’ return home. He stood beside Charles at the window, watching the boys and Ororo chase each other around outside, playing Frisbee. Scott took a flying leap from a low tree branch to land on Alex’s shoulders, clinging to his older brother’s neck with one arm and tearing the Frisbee from his hands with the other. Alex spun to try to grab his brother, but the young boy just dropped to the ground and tossed the Frisbee to Sean, who caught it and sprinted away towards Ororo, who was jumping up and down and screaming. Raven looked up lazily before turning back to the magazine in her lap and flipping the page.

“They deserve a break every now and then,” Charles defended. “They may be… _X-Men_ , but they’re still children.”

Erik observed as Sean tackled Alex to the ground and sat on his chest triumphantly. “You don’t need to tell me twice.”

“Shenanigans aside,” Charles continued, smiling, “they’re children, Erik. They’re at this school for a reason. I intend to protect them in every way possible, even if I’m just protecting their childhood a bit longer.”

“They’ve grown up, Charles,” Erik reminded him. “From when we first met them to now, do you see the difference? They’ve grown up very quickly.”

“I hate that I’ve robbed them of a proper childhood,” Charles sighed. Erik placed a heavy, warm hand on Charles’ shoulder; Charles looked up at him, though Erik’s attention was still on the children.

“You remember how they were when we found them,” Erik said quietly. Charles nodded and looked back out to the children and their game. “This is possibly the best part of their childhood.”

Charles nodded once more, and the both of them fell silent. Sean had Ororo on his shoulders, and Alex had Scott on his; the four of them had abandoned Frisbee, and were now playing a game of chicken, with Raven acting as an aggressive referee. Charles smiled, and leaned his head to the side, resting it against Erik’s forearm. Surprised, Erik looked down, and had just opened his mouth to say something when Hank shouted Erik’s name from elsewhere in the house, piercing their moment; Charles frowned as it shattered around them.

“What?” Erik called back. Hank came sprinting into the room, nearly tripping over a chair.

“You’ve got a call in the kitchen,” Hank informed him, his face a pale blue, as though all the blood had drained from his face. Erik followed him from the study just as there was a knock at the front door. Charles wheeled himself from the study to the front room and tugged the door open. There was an unfamiliar woman standing on the top step, two small children standing on the step right below hers. The children were holding hands, and were alternating between glancing warily at the woman in front of them to peering curiously at Charles.

“Hello,” the woman greeted Charles curtly. She stuck her hand out, and Charles shook it.

“Hello,” Charles echoed, looking down at the children. “And hello to you two, as well.”

The girl grinned toothily at him, even as the boy hid his face in the girl’s shoulder. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Charles laughed. He turned his attention back to the woman. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you Erik Lehnsherr?” the woman asked. Charles frowned and reached out to Erik’s mind with his, and only found some semblance of shocked white noise. _Erik?_

The man in question came skidding into the front room and reached Charles’ side in seconds, his face flushed. He knelt on the ground. “My God.”

“Erik, what is it?” Charles asked. When Erik did not move, let alone speak, Charles dove into the mind of the woman standing before her, pulling information and facts off the surface of her thoughts. He bit back a gasp, and his attention shot back to the children.

“Magda, she didn’t…” Erik began, but he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish speaking. “I never… I didn’t know.”

The young girl looked at Erik curiously, then something like recognition dawned on her face. She released the boy’s hand and yanked a locket out of her shirt and off her neck. The jewelry was far too big for her, but she held it carefully, as though it were her most prized possession. She snapped the locket open with her small hands and showed the contents inside to the boy, who smiled and looked up at Erik.

 _Is Erik alright?_ Hank asked, the question floating into Charles’ mind. _I don’t know who was on the phone, but they sounded very… official. Erik shot out of here like a bat out of hell and told me to stay put._

 _Erik is quite alright,_ Charles assured him. _We may have two new students, though._

A pause. _I’ll be right there,_ Hank replied, drifting out of Charles’ mind. In front of Charles, the little boy stepped forwards, up the two steps to the landing, closer to Erik. The girl shadowed him, smiling widely over the boy’s shoulder. She held the locket out to Erik, and Erik took it, looking at the pictures inside.

“What are your names?” he asked, still looking at the pictures. Hank appeared behind Charles, and Charles shushed him; Hank, in turn, waved his arms behind Erik's back at everyone else who had gathered at the bottom of the front steps to see what was going on, telling them to be quiet by mouthing the words at them.

“I’m Pietro,” the boy introduced himself, “and this is Wanda.”

“Pietro and Wanda,” Erik repeated, seemingly testing the names on his tongue. “I remember…” And Charles was assaulted with memories of a woman Erik had never told him about, but someone he clearly knew well - and he realized, suddenly, she was his wife, a woman who smiled at him and laughed at what he said to her and whispered what she wanted to name their children in his ear. A woman who had left one morning, leaving Erik with nothing, no clue, no reason, just anger and rage. Erik snapped out of his memories, focusing on the children before him. “I’m so sorry, I never knew.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Charles informed the children, who looked up at him as though they had forgotten he was there. Charles tapped his forehead. “I’m different, just like you. I can read minds.”

“I can run really fast!” Pietro exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And Wanda’s got magic!”

“That’s something else,” Charles laughed. He motioned to Erik, who was watching the children with bewilderment. “He’s different, too.”

“What do you do?” Wanda asked Erik. Erik held out his hand, palm facing upwards; a few dimes and pennies soared out of his pocket into his palm, and Erik barely had to concentrate as he used his mind and his power to flatten the coins out and shape them into a metallic rose. He held the flower out to Wanda, who took it and grinned at him.

“You’re Vati?” Pietro asked, his voice a lot curious and excited, and only a little afraid and suspicious. Erik nodded, and the girl ran forward, apparently through with just hanging back and waiting for something to happen. She threw her small arms around Erik’s neck, and Erik wrapped one arm around her, extending the other to Pietro, who did exactly as his sister did and allowed Erik to fold him into an embrace. The woman standing on the top step shuffled her papers awkwardly, but Charles ignored her, basking in the feeling of _belongingsafetyvatihome_ that was being projected by the twins and _shockawewarmthjoy_ that was being projected by Erik.

 _What does ‘Vati’ mean?_ Alex asked Charles through his thoughts. Charles sent the question into everyone’s minds.

 _'Father',_  Charles informed them. _He’s their father._


	13. Lehnsherr Family Values

Once Charles had been able to separate Erik from Pietro and Wanda, he invited the woman inside. She informed Erik that the children’s legal guardians had passed away, and so he had been sought out and located. All he had to do was sign here, thank you, and initial there, and please do read these pages and sign there and there, and the children - children he had not known about before today - were his. The woman left in a flurry of paperwork and ink and stiff shoulder pads, the front door slamming shut behind her.

“Will you go get Scott and Ororo and Jean for me, please, Alex?” Charles asked, ushering everyone into the living room. Alex nodded and dashed off. “Best get them all acquainted as soon as possible.”

Alex returned, Scott following dutifully behind his brother while Alex carried Jean and Raven carried Ororo. Alex set Jean down. Ororo fought her way out of Raven’s hold, but when Alex clapped his hands, she skidded to a halt.

“Line up, tallest to shortest, like I showed you,” Alex ordered. Scott and Ororo both grinned and tripped over each other to get to the end of the line, Ororo dragging Jean behind her. Hank stood at the far left, followed by Sean, then Alex, then Raven, Ororo, Scott, and Jean. Charles laughed.

“Splendid,” Charles said, delighted. “Absolutely splendid. When did you teach them this?”

“When I got bored and nobody would listen,” Alex answered. “Partially Hank’s idea.”

“I can’t take credit,” Hank insisted. “Alex carried on with the execution of the idea, all I did was just-”

“Bozo, shut it,” Alex interrupted, effectively cutting Hank off and making him blush, which only served to turn his cheeks violet.

“Go ahead, then,” Charles urged. “Introduce yourselves.”

“My name is Hank,” Hank said, his deep voice soft, as it normally was. He crouched down to shake Wanda’s hand, then Pietro’s. “As you can see, I’m very furry and very blue.” Hank smiled when Wanda laughed and Pietro grinned. “I’m also very fast.”

“I’m fast, too!” Pietro shrieked. Hank smiled.

“We’ll have to have a race sometime,” Hank assured him. Pietro nodded, and Hank continued, “I can also hang upside down. I’ve found it helps me think.”

“That’s silly,” Wanda laughed. Hank raised an eyebrow.

“Is it?” Hank asked. He backed up into the doorway and flipped around, hanging off the molding, his lab coat falling down around his head. Wanda started clapping, and Pietro followed suit, the both of them plainly delighted. Hank fell back down onto his feet like a cat and took his place in line again. “Still silly?” he asked Wanda, who shook her head and smiled. He motioned to Sean, who crouched down just as Hank had and shook their hands.

“Well, my name is Sean,” Sean introduced himself, “and I don’t look cool like Hank, but when I scream, I can fly. And break stuff, but I’m really not supposed to break stuff.”

“You can _fly_?” Pietro asked incredulously. Sean nodded seriously, but his grin betrayed him. “Can you show me?”

“Maybe later,” Sean said. When the children’s face fell, Sean amended, “After dinner.” Wanda thanked him while Pietro cheered.

“Do you have wings?” Wanda asked, curious. Pietro craned his neck to look around at Sean’s back, but Sean just laughed.

“No, but I used to know a girl who did,” Sean informed them. The twins gasped.

“That’s amazing,” Pietro breathed. Sean clapped Pietro’s shoulder.

“Not as amazing as you two, believe me,” Sean assured them. He straightened up, and Alex crouched down to their height.

“I’m Alex,” he said, “and I shoot lasers.”

“Are you dangerous?” Pietro asked warily. “Because sometimes Wanda shoots things, and she’s not dangerous, but people _say_ she is. Because she shoots things.”

“I’m not dangerous, I promise,” Alex assured them both. He looked to Wanda. “We can work on that together, how’s that sound?”

“It sounds nice,” Wanda answered shyly, her face turning red. Charles smiled.

“Excellent,” Alex said, standing up again. “We’ll practice that while Pietro and Hank run around in circles.”

“You make it sound so lame,” Hank laughed, “just because you’re jealous that my circles are faster than yours.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex grumbled. Raven leaned down to shake the children’s hands.

“I’m Raven,” she said, smiling. “I can turn into anybody.”

“Can you turn into me?” Pietro asked quickly, an eager grin on his face. Raven morphed down into an exact mirror image of Pietro, and the boy laughed. Raven then looked to Wanda and shifted into her, much to the girl’s shock and delight. Raven came back into her normal self, growing back to her own height and gaining her patterned blue skin once more. “That’s _great_!”

“Are you having a baby?” Wanda blurted out. Pietro grabbed his sister’s wrist.

“Marya said that’s a rude question,” Pietro hissed, but Raven just smiled.

“No, it’s okay,” Raven assured them. “I am having a baby, yes.”

“Is he going to look like you?” Wanda asked. Raven shrugged.

“I’m not sure. That would be neat, though, wouldn’t it?” Raven said, and Wanda nodded. Ororo, apparently fed up with waiting, bounced in front of Pietro and Wanda.

“I’m Ororo,” she said. “We have the same white hair, Pietro! We look alike!”

“We do,” Pietro said, grinning at her. “Except I’m white, and you’re black, but that doesn’t matter because we’re all the same _inside_.”

“That’s exactly right, Pietro,” Charles encouraged. Ororo beamed at Pietro.

“I’ve never met someone else with white hair before, except old people,” Ororo informed him gravely. Pietro nodded, his expression one of complete understanding.

“What can you do?” Wanda asked, leaning forwards. She was about the same height as Scott, where Pietro was closer to Ororo’s height.

“I can control the weather,” Ororo informed her proudly. “Wanna see?”

Both twins answered yes, they most certainly _would_ like to see, and Ororo looked out the window. Her eyes glazed over into whiteness, and she raised her hands, palms-out. A brief scattering of rain fell around the mansion, disappearing as soon as it came and leaving a rainbow in its wake. Ororo’s eyes came back, brilliantly dark, and Wanda stared out the window in delighted surprise while Pietro hopped up and down.

“You can make it snow, right?” Pietro asked excitedly. Ororo half-nodded, half-shrugged. “We can have snowball fights!”

“We’ll wait for December,” Charles said, “to avoid any unnecessary attention.”

“Spoilsport,” Sean grumbled. Charles grinned.

_It’s only a month._

_That’s a month too long, Professor._

“This is Scott,” Ororo said, dragging the attention back to her friend. “Say hello, Scott.”

“Hello,” Scott said, giving a small wave. “Alex is my big brother. I can shoot lasers like him, except I shoot them with my eyes instead. That’s why I have to wear my sunglasses.”

“Can we see?” Pietro asked excitedly. Scott shook his head.

“Professor says I’m not supposed to inside,” Scott said. Wanda looked over at Alex hopefully.

“Can Scott work with us?” Wanda asked. Alex nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Of course, the three of us can work together,” Alex assured her. Scott smiled, but ducked his head down to hide it from his brother.

“And this is Jean,” Ororo said suddenly, drawing Wanda’s and Pietro’s eyes. “She doesn’t talk, but she’s really smart and she’s a mind-reader, too, just like Professor Charles.”

Jean waved, her small fingers tucking into her palm and out again. Wanda grinned at her.

“Your power’s really cool,” Wanda said. Jean smiled. “You’re really pretty.”

Jean reached out and pressed her hand to Wanda’s face, and Wanda gasped. Raven was there in a heartbeat, ready to pull them apart, but then Wanda laughed.

“She means thank you,” Wanda said when Jean dropped her hand. Jean’s smile almost split her face in half, and Pietro hopped up in front of her eagerly.

“Hi, Jean,” Pietro exclaimed. Jean pressed her palm against Pietro’s cheek, and Pietro laughed excitedly. “I like you, Jean.”

Jean let her hand fall down, but she continued smiling, overjoyed at the attention and excitement she was receiving from the newcomers. Charles wheeled himself forward, drawing everyone’s eyes to him.

“My name is Professor Charles Xavier,” he said, introducing himself. “Most people here at home just call me Professor, but Erik calls me Charles, and Ororo calls me Professor Charles. You can just take your pick.”

“You said you do mind things,” Wanda said, slowly. “Like what?”

 _Like this,_ Charles said directly into their minds. Pietro looked up at Charles, shocked, his small mouth open.

“You didn’t even move your lips!” Pietro exclaimed.

 _I don’t need to,_ Charles said in his head, projecting the thought to them. _I’m using my mind. It’s part of my power._

“That’s amazing,” Wanda insisted breathlessly.

“Thank you very much,” Charles said graciously, smiling at them. Pietro came up beside him and began examining his wheelchair.

“Can you walk?” Pietro asked curiously, running his fingers over the plastic wheel. Charles shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid not. There was an accident a little while ago, and now I can’t walk anymore,” Charles explained simply. “But it’s okay, really, because-”

“Because you can just roll around, and you can use your brain to make people get you stuff you can’t reach?” Pietro guessed, finishing his sentence for him. Charles laughed.

“Yes, exactly,” Charles agreed. “That’s exactly why it’s okay.” Charles looked over his shoulder at Erik, who stepped forward and knelt on the ground. Pietro and Wanda abandoned Charles to approach him.

“My name is Erik Lehnsherr,” Erik said softly. “I can control metal, like I showed you. You don’t have to call me Vater or Father or anything, not if you don’t want to. You can just call me Erik.”

Pietro’s brow furrowed, and his sister asked, “Why would we call you Erik when you’re our Vati?” Pietro nodded in agreement with her inquiry.

“Good question,” Erik said. “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“We didn’t know Mutti,” Pietro explained, “but Django and Marya said she loved us, and they said they didn’t know where you were, but that you loved us, too, and that we’d find you.”

“They were right,” Erik assured them. Wanda stepped closer tentatively, reaching for Erik’s hand. Erik held it out and allowed her to take it, her small hand barely wrapping around two of his fingers. “How old are you two?”

They looked at each other, then back to Erik, simultaneously. Sean laughed.

“Four,” Pietro said, and Erik nodded. Somewhere behind Pietro, Ororo exclaimed, “That’s how old _I_ am!”, but somebody shushed her.

“Four,” Erik repeated. Wanda nodded, mimicking Erik exactly.

“How old are you?” Wanda asked, and Erik grinned.

“I’m thirty-six,” Erik informed her, and Wanda frowned.

“That’s old,” she informed him seriously. Pietro agreed whole-heartedly, prompting a laugh from Charles that he hid behind his hand and attempted to disguise as a cough. The look Erik shot over his shoulder, however, told Charles that he had not quite succeeded.

“Did you know Mutti?” Pietro asked suddenly. Erik nodded.

“I knew her,” Erik told them. “Her name was Magda. She was very beautiful, but I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Django said she’s dead,” Wanda said bluntly. Erik stroked his daughter’s cheek with his thumb.

“I guessed that would be the case,” Erik replied. “But it’s okay. You have me.”

“Promise?” Pietro asked, his voice tinged with nerves. Erik reached out with his other hand and pulled his son closer.

“I promise,” Erik assured them both. Wanda looked up at Erik, her small teeth worrying her bottom lip before she spoke.

“Is everyone here brothers and sisters?” Wanda asked. Erik shook his head.

“Charles and Raven are brother and sister, and Alex and Scott are brothers, but that’s all,” Erik explained to them. Wanda nodded seriously, contemplating the information.

“Are any of them _our_ brothers and sisters?” Pietro asked, looking over his shoulder at the line of people behind him, Ororo in particular.

“No, I’m sorry,” Erik said. “You had a lovely older sister, though. Her name was Anya.”

“She’s not here?” Pietro’s brow furrowed again. Charles found it quite endearing, especially when Erik’s did the same.

“No. She died, like Mutti,” Erik explained. Raven frowned, looking over at Hank, who mouthed _I had no idea._ back at her. They all looked to Charles.

 _I knew,_ Charles said into their minds, _but you can discuss it with Erik another day._

The children all nodded. Sean scrubbed his hand over his face and across his eyes, and Alex pointedly did not look at him, allowing him space to compose himself.

“So why do you all live in one house?” Pietro looked up at Erik. “If you’re not a family, I mean.”

“We _are_ a family,” Charles said. “Family isn’t just who you’re related to. It’s who you love.”

“Don’t get all sappy, Professor,” Sean teased. Charles smiled.

“Forgive me,” Charles said. He looked back down to Pietro and Wanda. “This is a school, though it used to be my home. Now, it’s everyone’s home.”

“Who’s everyone?” Wanda asked.

“Everyone who wants to stay here, or needs a place to live,” Charles said. “Anyone who needs a family.”

“Like us,” Pietro exclaimed, and Erik pulled him closer. Charles smiled warmly at the young boy.

“Yes,” Charles said. “Like you. And now you have a family here, and this is your home.”

“It’s awful big,” Wanda said worriedly. She looked up at the high ceiling far above her head. “Will I get lost?”

 _Not while I’m around,_ Charles assured her mentally. Wanda laughed and clapped her hands together, dropping Erik’s hand to do so. Erik gave up on maintaining any kind of tough image for the others and pulled his two children close, embracing them firmly right there on the floor. Wanda sniffled, burying her face in Erik’s neck, grabbing onto the material of his shirt stretched across his chest tightly with her small fists. Pietro remained silent, but the way his hands clenched in the back of Erik’s jacket betrayed his emotions. Erik stood, holding onto them both with seemingly no intentions of ever letting them go.

“Let’s get you two set up in your rooms, hmm?” Charles suggested. Pietro’s head swiveled around to look at Charles in shock.

“We get our _own rooms_?” Pietro asked, his voice full of awe. Charles nodded, and Pietro all but melted. “That’s so _neat_.”

Charles laughed and motioned for Erik to follow as he led the way to the rooms he and the boys had been working on for future students. Sean was the one who walked behind Erik, and thusly was the one who Wanda looked up at when she raised her head. Sean smiled at her, and she smiled back, her whole face lighting up. Charles smiled.


	14. Slow Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for warnings, but, beware: there are spoilers.

“They’re finally asleep?” Charles asked when Erik came into the study. He fell into his usual armchair, and Charles wheeled himself away from the fire to begin setting up the chess board.

“They wouldn’t stop running into each other’s rooms to say _one last thing_ ,” Erik groaned, rubbing his hands over his face before he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I eventually just gave up. Wanda’s sleeping in Pietro’s bed with him. We’ll have to wean them off each other.”

“Indeed,” Charles agreed softly, almost absent-mindedly, setting down a pawn. Erik sat up, looking the board over as Charles set it up. He shifted to stare at Charles over the table. Charles finally felt his eyes on him and looked up. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…” Erik trailed off, leaning back and rubbing at his chin. “I don’t know.”

Charles smiled at him and returned his attention to setting up the board. “I meant to tell you, the beard looks good.”

“Yeah?” Erik said, dropping his hands into his lap. “I just didn’t get a chance to shave it.”

“I like it,” Charles murmured, slipping the final queen into place. He set the box on the floor and moved a pawn forward, beginning the game. Erik moved one of his own pawns, his eyes firmly fixed on Charles, whereas Charles’ eyes were firmly fixed on the pieces. The game continued in silence that grew increasingly more and more tense until, finally, Erik decided to speak, no matter how inane the conversation may be.

“Why?” Erik asked.

Without looking up, Charles replied, “Why what?”

“Why do you like my beard?” Erik elaborated, scrambling just a bit. A small crease formed between Charles’ eyes, but he remained focused on planning the strategy for his pieces.

“I don’t know,” Charles began, one hand hovering above the board. “You look good with it, I suppose. All red and… I don’t know. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” Erik said, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. Charles finally raised his eyes and frowned at him.

“Is something wrong, Erik?” Charles asked, that small crease still present. Erik’s eyes flickered from the crease to Charles’ eyes.

“You said something,” Erik said, slowly. “At the facility, I mean.”

“I likely said a great many things at the facility, but I’m afraid I don’t recall most of them,” Charles replied, leaning forward over the chessboard. He rested his elbows on the table edge and rested his chin on his hands. “Care to elaborate?”

Erik’s eyes fell to Charles’ wrist bones. “You said you weren’t ready…” Erik trailed off, swallowing, collecting himself. Charles waited patiently, and Erik continued. “You weren’t ready for me to leave… _home_ , again, not when you…” Erik looked up into Charles’ eyes again. “You stopped there. I just wanted to know… when you what?”

Charles shut his eyes and turned his face down, pressing his forehead against his hands. “Oh, Erik.”

“What?” Erik asked, keeping his voice hushed.

Charles shook his head. “I shouldn’t’ve said _anything_. I _was_ blitzed, you know. Not in a traditional sense, mind you, but they had me on quite the cocktail, and I honestly don’t remember much of-”

“Bullshit,” Erik interrupted. Charles peeked at Erik over his hands. “You know what you were going to stay, so out with it. When you _what_?”

“I don’t remember exactly,” Charles said. He held up a hand when Erik opened his mouth to protest, and Erik shut it again, his teeth clashing together harshly. “I don’t remember exactly,” Charles began again, “but I can make a guess. I’m not ready for you to leave home again, not when I… finally have you back, certainly. Not when I have you home.” Charles shrugged delicately, closing off his expression in a desperate attempt to keep Erik from going any further. Erik, not one to be played for a fool, did not drop it. Charles did not expect him to.

“There’s more,” Erik pushed. “I know there is, Charles, but if you’re not going to tell me-”

“I’m not ready for you to leave home again, not when I finally realized… how I feel. For you.” Charles scrubbed a hand over his face and leaned back. “I’m remarkably dull with emotions, and I suppose I always have been. I’m a _telepath_ , not an _empath_ , and it took me a great deal of time to… Well, that’s a conversation for another day. What I’m saying is, I know now - how I feel for you, I mean - and, well, now you know, as well, and even I know this is too much to put on you.” Charles scratched at the back of his head, ran a hand through his hair, his nails scraping along his scalp. “I didn’t want to scare you off, see. I wanted you to stay _here_. At home. Where you belong.”

Erik stared at him, his brow furrowed. Charles shut his eyes, briefly, then opened them again and unlocked his wheels, pushing himself backwards a bit. He moved as though he were going to open the door for Erik, but Erik stood, blinking when he was on his feet as though he did not remember moving. His armchair scraped backwards, then toppled over after a moment of indecision, hovering on one teetering leg before crashing to the floor. With a flick of his wrist, Erik stopped Charles’ hand from moving towards, keeping a firm hold on his wristwatch. The door of the study clicked shut, the sound of the lock echoing loudly in the silence of the study. The fire popped. Charles’ head snapped around, taking in the fallen chair and Erik’s extended hand.

“Please,” Charles said, his voice eerily steady, and it took Erik a beat to realize he was _frightened_. “I didn’t mean… If you need to leave, I understand. Leave the children alone, just... You can just leave.”

Erik blinked, then released Charles’ wristwatch. “I’m not going to leave. Or hurt the children. What kind of-”

“I don’t understand you, Erik,” Charles exploded suddenly, his face lighting up with emotion, spots of color flushing high on his cheeks. “I don’t understand- What do you _want_?”

Erik hesitated, then moved forwards, knocking the chessboard over in his haste to reach Charles. He took Charles’ hand in his, and knelt before him, his knees pressing into the rug. “ _You_ , Charles,” Erik answered, his voice rough. “ _Shit_ , I thought… I thought you _knew_. How could you not have _known_?”

“Known what?” Charles asked, softly, and Erik smiled, just a bit, as he leaned upwards and forwards.

“You tell me, telepath,” Erik murmured before he pressed their mouths together. The walls Charles had taken so much time to build up between the two of them crumbled almost instantly, collapsing into dust the second their lips touched, and he felt all of Erik’s emotions as intimately as he felt his own. They all collided at once inside his mind, an explosion of lust and want and satisfaction, a deadly combination so long in the making that it bled into Erik’s mind, drawing a moan from his throat. Erik opened Charles’ mouth, licking his way inside, and this was _different_ , different than a desperate kiss before their home was invaded, different than a frightened, panicked kiss when they were reunited in the facility, different in a way that Charles was _more_ than okay with.

Erik raised up, fitting himself on Charles’ lap, one hand holding onto Charles’ jaw while his other hand made its way to the back of his head. He only drew back to catch his breath, and Charles pressed their foreheads together, trying not to grin. Erik smiled at him, briefly, before a flicker of an emotion that certainly _did not_ belong here flickered across his face.

“Can you-” Erik began, then cut himself off, biting his own tongue. Charles’ brow furrowed before he got Erik’s surface thoughts, and he nodded once, tipping his head back a bit.

“Ahh,” Charles murmured, suddenly understanding. “You’re afraid I can’t have sex. Well, Erik, I may not be as I once was, but I am far from useless.”

“I just-”

“I’m sure,” Charles interrupted, taking Erik’s hand from his jaw and guiding it down to his crotch, pushing his complete lack of sensation to the back of his mind to keep Erik from even briefly catching it, should Charles lose control, “that you will be pleasantly surprised by me.”

“I always am,” Erik said, his voice muffled by Charles’ skin as he leaned forwards to bite at his jawbone. “I will never _stop_ being surprised by you, Charles, I swear.”

Charles had known, since Erik had come back, that this was a possibility. He had caught hints of the desire for it in Erik’s mind, and had been prepared with what he would do. Originally, his plan was to simply _tell_ Erik that it would be absurd to expect him to be able to feel this. As of late, however, as Erik got back onto his good side, he began to feel as though this was one thing he could let Erik have. So, he devised a plan, which he was now finally putting into place. He would enter Erik’s mind and simply share his sensations with him - Erik need never know, Charles assured himself, as he slipped into Erik’s mind. What he could not feel, he would just draw from Erik.

Charles’ eyes fluttered shut and his head fell back as Erik started moving. “Fuck, Erik, _fuck_ -”

“When you swear, Charles, I could lose my _mind_ ,” Erik hissed into Charles’ neck before he sucked a bruise into his skin. Charles bit off his reply, replacing it with a groan of pleasure. Erik laughed. “You’re bleeding over again.”

“I’m-”

“No,” Erik interrupted, already knowing what Charles was going to say. “No, don’t apologize. I like it, I like making you lose control, that careful control, always so _strong_ -”

“Jesus, Erik-”

“Shh,” Erik murmured. He stood up, divesting himself of his clothes as quickly as he could. Charles caught the obvious hint and started stripping his own clothes off. Erik, bare-chested, but still in his pants, his belt buckle undone, leaned forward to help, tugging Charles’ slacks and boxers off for him. He stood back, but Charles, finally fully naked, just reached forward, yanking Erik’s belt out and shoving his pants and underwear down. Erik kicked them off and fell to his knees. He pushed Charles’ footrests aside to allow him space to kneel between his legs. Charles blinked at him, once, slowly, before he panicked and grabbed a fistful of Erik’s hair.

“Not like that,” Charles said, as forcefully as he could, and all Erik could do was nod. “I’ll need your help,” he said, trying to work through his embarrassment in a way he had not quite managed to learn yet, and Erik just stood, sweeping him up in one graceful motion. “Sofa,” Charles said, pointing to the large couch pressed against one wall. Erik nearly tripped over the armchair on his way there, drawing a laugh from Charles, but when he set Charles down, the telepath just shoved his own legs until they were bent.

“Charles, what-”

“I want you to fuck me,” Charles said firmly. Erik nearly smacked his head on the wall beside the sofa. “If you- see my desk? Go over to it, and open- yes, the bottom left drawer, lift up the- it’s got a trick bottom- there you go.”

Erik, standing at the desk, lifted up a can of Crisco, a wide, surprised grin on his face. “You realize you teach children in here, yes? Also, exactly _how_ long have you been planning on having sex in here, Charles?”

“It’s a false bottom,” Charles defended. “It’s _clever_. And it never hurts to be prepared, I’ll have you know. I don’t see you complaining now.”

“Understood,” Erik said, before returning to the previous argument. “And, I’m sorry, but you’ll recall that one of your students is Sean Cassidy.”

Charles frowned. “Please don’t say Sean’s name right now,” Charles requested. “Or mention any of the students, in any capacity, for that matter.”

“Fair enough,” Erik allowed, settling the false bottom back in place and shutting the drawer with perhaps too much force. He made his way back to Charles a bit too fast; Charles blinked, and Erik was there, settling between his legs. “Do you want to do it, or shall I?”

“I will,” Charles said, holding his hand out. Erik passed him the container at the same moment, the two of them moving in tandem, as they so often were. Charles spread the Crisco on his fingers and, in an action long since practiced and perfected, slipped a single finger inside himself. He shut his eyes briefly at the lack of sensation, but snapped them back open before Erik could say a word. He watched as Erik sat back on his haunches and studied Charles with wide-eyed interest, all of his attention focused on the singular, jerking movements of Charles’ hand as he added a second finger, then a third, opening himself wide. He assessed Erik with an overly-dramatic, evaluating look. “Three enough?”

“I think that’s just fine,” Erik deadpanned. He took the can from Charles and slicked himself up before pausing. “Do you want me to use a condom?”

Charles’ brow furrowed before he touched two of the fingers on his dry hand to his temple. He flipped through Erik’s memories, then showed Erik his, breezing through them as quickly as possible. When he withdrew from their minds, Erik was very nearly breathless.

“I think we’re quite alright,” Charles answered. Erik nodded jerkily before finishing the job of slicking himself. He set the can on the floor and lined himself up.

“Are you sure?” Erik said, softly, giving Charles one last out. Charles reached up and took Erik’s face in his hands, guiding him down to press a bruising kiss into his mouth.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Charles promised when he released him, and Erik leaned back slightly, just enough to be sure of his movements as he slowly pushed his way in. Charles’ jerked instinctively, his back arching a bit, but his legs remained bent where he put them. When Erik was all the way in, he moved Charles’ legs for him, placing them over his shoulders. Charles watched, his lower lip held tightly between his teeth as he did so; when Erik was finished settling in, he reached out, his hands scrambling for purchase against Erik’s chest.

“ _Move_ ,” Charles demanded, and Erik did, his hands grabbing Charles’ waist as he thrusted in and out. Charles moaned, low in his throat, and Erik's grip on his waist tightened. Though Charles could not feel some of the experience, he could feel Erik’s pleasure with himself and with Charles, and their sensations started to blend; with their bodies melting together, their minds seemed to fuse into one. Charles could no longer distinguish whose thoughts were whose; he was watching himself through Erik’s eyes, Erik through his own eyes, drowning in dual sensations and emotions and desires. His hands fell to the fabric of the sofa, and he grabbed fistfuls of material. The only sounds for a time where breathy sounds, groans of pleasure, the slap of skin on skin, until the clock on the mantle rattled. Charles bit back a laugh.

“Please keep it- in this room,” Charles requested, his voice hitching halfway through with Erik’s movements. “Waking the- waking anyone up right now is- the last thing we- want.”

“I’ll do my best,” Erik assured him, even as the pens on Charles’ desk all clattered together and flew into the wall. Charles did laugh that time, but it fell off into a moan when Erik shifted his body. Pleasure and desire coursed up Erik’s spine, and Charles latched onto it.

“Erik,” Charles gasped. “Erik, _fuck_ , I’m-”

“I know,” Erik grunted. “I can feel it, Charles, you’re in my goddamn _head_ -”

And Charles reached up with one hand, clinging to Erik’s sharp jawline. Charles’ phone trembled violently and fell off his desk.

“I love you,” Charles said, suddenly, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. Erik’s eyes snapped up to his, and he came, just then, their eyes locked together. Charles allowed himself to slip further into Erik’s mind, not needing his own release, not feeling enough to bring himself there. Instead, he toppled over the edge of Erik’s mind, falling right after Erik, and lost himself to a mess of white haze that partially belonged to him, his thoughts floating away from him. He settled into the nothingness that was quite unlike anything he had ever felt before; after a lifetime of being in more heads than just his own, this silent absence of thought that he got to share with Erik was more than welcome. He came back into his own mind, his own skin, far too quickly, and he realized Erik’s head was pressed into his chest, his body lined up along his. His legs were flat against the cushions once more.

Erik murmured something into his skin that Charles did not quite catch; Charles reached up with one weak arm and tipped his face up.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Charles asked softly, and Erik opened his eyes to look at Charles. Charles nearly choked on his own tongue at the look in his brilliantly blue-tinted-green sea-glass eyes.

“I love you, too,” Erik repeated. Charles tugged his face up roughly to kiss him, deeply, bruising both of their lips in the process. When he withdrew, Erik smiled at him. “My tonsils in order?”

“Quite,” Charles answered, flushing fiercely. Erik kissed the underside of his jaw before moving to stand. Charles grabbed his wrist. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to put you back in your chair, you’re going to carry our clothes and make sure no one sees us, and we’re going back to your room so nobody finds us naked in your study in the morning,” Erik explained, standing and hefting Charles up with him. “Sound good?”

“More than good,” Charles agreed. They did as Erik suggested, moving more quickly than Charles could have anticipated - though he did strongly suspect Erik of cheating, and they both ignored the fallen lamp in the hallway. Once they made it to Charles’ bedroom, Erik shut and locked the door with a twist of his wrist before he lifted Charles from his chair and set him down in his bed.

“Wait here,” Erik said, leaving Charles on the bed to go into the attached bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth, and proceeded to clean Charles gently. He reached out one hand, almost absently, and his fingers twitched in the air, though Erik seemingly paid them no mind. Charles’ brow furrowed.

“What did you just do?” Charles asked. Erik folded the washcloth and tossed it into Charles’ hamper in the corner before he settled on the other side of the bed, pulling Charles close until the telepath’s head was resting over his heart.

“I locked and slightly ruined the study door,” Erik explained, “because we have a little cleaning up to do in there before anyone goes in.”

Charles sighed and nodded his agreement, already half-asleep. Erik pressed his cheek to the crown of Charles' head.

“Goodnight, Charles,” Erik murmured. Charles hummed in acknowledgement.

“‘Night, Erik,” Charles said softly, the words sinking into Erik’s skin, disappearing into his ribcage the moment they were spoken. Erik stretched a hand out and shut the bedside lamp off. Charles threw an arm over Erik’s waist and shut his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that explicit warning? This chapter is mainly why it's there.
> 
> Also, this is the 1960's, and a paralyzed telepath having sex. I did as much research as I could on paralysis, Charles Xavier's particular paralysis, sexual abilities, all this information that basically ended up with this. Fun fact: lubricant for sexual purposes wasn't invented by this time! Imagine that. They used Crisco.
> 
> In any case, I did my best. I hope it's alright! I'm shit with sex scenes.


	15. Quite Deep and Well Done

The next morning, when Charles awoke, daylight was already coming through the windows of his bedroom. He blinked, then shifted slightly, tensing, before he realized there was another body in the bed with him. He relaxed when the memories of the previous night flooded his mind. Erik laughed, and Charles lifted his head.

“I felt that,” Erik explained, tapping Charles’ temple with one finger. “I’d do something about it, but I can feel the appliances in the kitchen, and at least two of the children are awake.”

“Drat,” Charles sighed. “Well, alright. Later, then.”

“Of course,” Erik agreed, pressing a kiss to Charles’ forehead before climbing out of bed. The two of them dressed in silence, though the appraising looks Erik kept shooting his way were not lost on Charles. Charles, trying to keep his cheeks from turning red, used a small part of his mind to make his marked, stubble-burnt skin appear normal. Erik smirked to himself. Still without words, they made their way to the kitchen, where Sean, Alex, and Hank were making breakfast. Hank flushed as soon as they saw the two enter, his blue skin blushing purple on his cheeks. Alex and Sean just grinned childishly at them.

“So, Erik,” Sean began without hesitation, leaning against the counter casually. “Care to explain why all the silverware is stuck in the wall?”

Erik’s head snapped around sharply to look at the silverware that was, surely enough, embedded in the wall above the kitchen table. Charles hid a laugh behind his hand; Erik glared at him, but that just seemed to make him laugh harder. Erik abandoned him to stare Sean into submission.

“It’s none of your business, Cassidy,” Erik growled. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Come on, man,” Alex sighed, exasperated. “You may as well have just _shouted_ that you got busy last night. You could’ve just said you got in a fight, and it would’ve made sense.”

“They have a point,” Charles added. Erik looked down at him, his brow furrowed.

“I thought you were on my side,” Erik said. Charles smiled.

“I’m on everyone’s side,” Charles reminded him, leaning forward to free a fork from the wall. He examined the hole. “That’s quite deep, Erik, well done.”

“Stop,” Hank said suddenly. “Professor, just- stop.”

Sean barked out a laugh. The tips of Erik’s ears turned red, and Charles grinned widely again.

“That’s not all,” Alex added. He motioned to a mangled, slightly-smoking mess on the counter. “The toaster exploded.”

“ _That’s_ the toaster?” Charles asked incredulously. He wheeled himself over to the hunk of metal and prodded at it with the fork still clasped in his hand. “Good Lord.”

“I’ll say,” Sean agreed, turning to Erik. “That good, huh?”

“If you value your life,” Erik spat, “you will shut up. _Now._ ”

“Alright,” Sean said, holding his hands up peaceably. He stepped around Alex to get to the fridge, clapping Charles on the shoulder and whispering, “Good on you, Professor,” under his breath as he passed. The silverware in the wall vibrated as Erik clenched his fists. Charles turned around, frowning at the wall.

“Erik, if you’d be so kind,” Charles said, motioning towards the wall. Erik sighed, but reached out regardless. The silverware drawer flew open, and the knives, spoons, and forks all flew to their respective places inside. The drawer slammed shut when the last spoon was in place. Charles continued examining the toaster.

“And, uhm,” Hank spoke up, looking at Erik nervously before deciding to address just Charles, “you kind of destroyed a couple of the machines in my lab. It’s no big deal, I mean, I can fix it, but, in the future, if you wouldn’t mind-”

“Oh, Hank, I am _so sorry_ ,” Charles apologized emphatically. “I’ll work with you to fix it, of course.”

“It’s no big deal, Professor,” Hank repeated. He looked over at Erik again. “Just- in the future?”

“Sure,” Erik agreed. At Charles’ pointed look, he added, “Sorry, Hank.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hank mumbled, looking down into the coffee in his mug as though he was contemplating drowning himself in it. Charles sent a wave of reassurance pulsing into Hank’s mind before he returned his attention to the toaster.

“This, I believe,” Charles declared, setting his fork down on the counter, “is beyond saving. We’ll need to go into town to get a new toaster.”

“Moira and I were planning on going into town today anyways,” Sean said, his mouth full of toast. “We’ll pick one up.” He swallowed his bite of toast and pointed the toast in his hand at Erik. “You should come. With Wanda and Pietro, I mean. They don’t really have anything, right?”

“Their social worker said she’d be dropping off a few things today,” Erik replied, a small frown on his face. “But, no, they don’t really have much.”

“While we’re in town, then, we should get them some things,” Sean explained. “You in?”

Erik looked towards Charles, who just nodded enthusiastically. “Fine,” Erik agreed. “But if you so much as make _one joke_ about this in front of them, I will _gladly_ glue you into your suit and nail your wings to the highest point of this house.”

“Understood,” Sean assured him, but his grin was suspicious enough that Charles made a mental note to hide the suit while they were out anyways.


	16. We, As A Team

“Remind me again why you had to start a school,” Erik asked drily when he returned from his day’s excursion into town, “and not, say, an old folks’ home, or a home for the deaf and mute?”

“Rough day, then?” Charles laughed, taking the bag that was thrust into his lap and triumphantly pulling out a toaster box. Wanda and Pietro sprinted in past Erik, Pietro easily lapping his sister and looping around to race back into the yard. Sean nearly tripped over him. With a sigh, Sean dropped his bags off to the side of the door and chased after him. Moira scooped up the bags Sean left behind and continued into the house with them.

“You could say that,” Erik replied. Wanda climbed onto the top of the armchair closest to Erik and leapt onto his back, wrapping her small arms around his neck. “Wanda, what did I say about the jumping?”

Wanda buried her face between Erik’s shoulder blades and answered, in a muffled voice, “Not to do it.”

“There we go.” Erik put his own bags down and reached around to tug Wanda off. She clung to him, and he simply held onto her, settling her slight frame on his hip. Charles had to forcibly drag his attention from the two of them and how shockingly domestic Erik was being to focus on Moira.

“Did you get everything?” Charles asked. Moira hefted the bags in her hands up.

“I think so,” she answered, “and I’ll be bringing the rest of the stuff from my old place soon. Listen, Xavier-”

“I won’t hear this again,” Charles said, gently but firmly. “You need a place to stay. The children need to learn combat and observation and all of these wonderful skills you have to teach them, regardless of your presence here or not. You are more than welcome here. It’s a school now, not just a home. Though it is that, as well.”

“Alright, alright,” Moira laughed. She looked to Erik briefly before she raised one heavily weighed-down hand to tap her forehead. Charles hesitated, then dove into her mind, exploring her thoughts until he caught the ones she was projecting to him. His telepathy was rocky lately as he regained control of it after his stint in the facility.

 _He’s different,_ Moira said, her mental voice softer than her spoken voice usually was. Charles frowned as he looked over at Erik, who was occupied with convincing Wanda to take her hand out of her mouth.

_He’s been through a lot lately, what with the children and-_

 _That’s not what I mean,_ Moira interrupted. _Can you look in his mind?_

 _I make an effort to keep out of his mind,_ Charles informed her, _lest he decide he needs his helmet again to protect himself from me. Telepathy is dangerous, you know. If mutants turn on themselves, they will turn on telepaths first. Of this, I am sure._

Moira turned to Charles, her brow furrowed. _I didn’t know that._

Charles smiled bitterly. _I’m ready for that. In any case, however_ , he said, getting back on track, _what do you mean, then, when you say ‘he’s different’?_

 _Look at him,_ Moira said, jerking her chin in Erik’s direction. _What do you see?_

Dozens of words flitted through Charles’ mind at once, all of which could be used to describe the man he saw before him. He flipped through them all quickly, before simply replying, _Erik._

Moira sighed aloud, clearly exasperated. _Will you at least talk to him?_

 _I will,_ Charles promised. Moira nodded once before raising her bags into the air. Charles took the hint to end the conversation for what it was and withdrew from her mind.

“I’m going to go put these things away in my room, and maybe start working on some sort of lesson plan,” Moira declared, a little bit too loudly to be casual. Erik raised an eyebrow at her.

“Will we see you for dinner?” Charles asked, before Erik could say anything. Moira nodded, readjusting her grip on her bags.

“I’ll be down at six on the dot,” Moira assured him. “Bye, Wanda.”

“Bye, Miss MacTaggert,” Wanda replied dutifully before burying her face in Erik’s neck. Erik hefted her up again, redistributing her weight. Once Moira was gone, Erik rounded on Charles, just as Charles was anticipating.

“What were you two talking about?” Erik asked, clearly aiming for casual but falling tremendously short of his goal. Charles looked pointedly at Wanda; Erik set her on the ground. “Go find your brother and Sean. Tell Sean he’s going to watch you both for me for a little while.”

“Okay, Vati,” Wanda agreed easily, taking off with a short wave thrown in Charles’ direction. Erik sat in the armchair, the two of them still in the front living room. Charles clasped his hands in his lap.

“Moira’s worried about you,” Charles informed him, with no further prelude. Erik frowned, his forehead creasing.

“Did she say why?”

“She said you’re different,” Charles explained. “Was there anything… I know you don’t prefer it, not at all… But, Erik, if we’re going to do _this_ ,” and here Charles motioned vaguely between them, as though the correct name for whatever _this_ was, exactly, was lying in the air there, invisible, waiting to be identified, “you’ll need to communicate with me.”

“Charles,” Erik began, bowing his head and rubbing at his face with his hands. “Do you remember what I said, before you were… taken? Do you remember that?”

Without waiting for an answer, Erik shoved the memory at him. Charles watched - through Erik’s mind, through Erik’s eyes - himself, and he felt a strange surge of protectiveness and fear that did not belong to him. Charles let himself fall into the memory, seeing it as he was from this new perspective.

_“I should stay up here,” Erik argued, the desperation in his mind strong and nearly overwhelming, “and fight with you.” Charles shook his head, and Erik wanted to grab him, to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he saw reason._

_“I’m trusting you with what is most precious to me,” Charles said, his voice gone soft. “And that is by far more important.” Erik still wanted to shake him, but more gently now. He wanted to hold him close and never let him go, never let the world get him, never let that man he saw when he first returned come back, because that man was not Charles. This was Charles. “Do you understand?”_

_Erik paused, recognizing the tone of Charles’ voice as a question before he processed the question itself. Once he recognized the words, he moved to nod, but only managed a sharp jerk of his head. Charles let his hands go and shifted backwards, and Erik’s entire mind panicked. His body seemed to move of its own accord as he flew forwards, taking Charles’ wrists into his large hands and-_

Charles surfaced from the memory, taking a deep breath as though he had been submerged underwater. Erik looked at him, in that quiet, searching way of his, as though he was silently beseeching Charles to just _understand_ , already.

“I remember,” Charles murmured. “And you told me the same thing. That you were trusting me with what was most precious to you, and did I understand, and I said, yes.” Charles wheeled himself forward until their knees were touching. He longed to feel Erik’s body heat pressed against his, but he swallowed the swell of emotion threatening to rise in his throat. “I said, yes, I do understand.”

“Clearly,” Erik began, his voice harshly quiet, as though he was trying to keep it from cracking. “Clearly, you did _not_ understand, Charles. Because- Do you know what I found? Do you know what I saw, when we found you?”

“No,” Charles answered, honestly. “No, I have no idea what you saw.”

Erik reached out and grasped Charles’ hand, pressing it to his own temple. “Find it. I buried it, because I know what happens to you when I have nightmares, but… You can find it.”

Charles raised his free hand to his own temple, his other hand trapped between the warmth of Erik’s hand and of his head. Without another word, he dove into Erik’s mind, sifting through memories in the direction Erik vaguely tried to mentally point him in. He found a tangle of memories that he quickly set about unwinding, sending them spiralling around his presence. He prided himself in how well he knew Erik’s mind - perhaps better than he knew his own, at times, if he was being honest - but there was always something new to find, to discover, inside Erik.

He pulled the memory of the facility from Erik’s mind and unwound it from its knotted, gnarled mess of a ball. He brought it to the forefront of their minds and pulled out of Erik’s mind, feeling slightly weakened for having done what he did. He had been trying to limit his more energy-consuming mental activities until he was operating at one-hundred percent, but he felt this was too important to wait.

Erik shut his eyes, but Charles reached out with his free hand, dropping it from his own temple to swipe his thumb under Erik’s left eye. Erik opened his eyes again, staring into Charles and, very nearly, straight through him.

“Look at me,” Charles ordered gently. “I want you to know I’m here, with you, when you see this.”

Erik nodded, though whether he did not feel the need to speak or he just did not feel he _could_ speak, Charles was not quite sure. He presented the memory to himself and to Erik, pulling it apart for them both.

_He flew past the endless metallic walls, the hum of silver metal all around him as he pounded through the facility as fast as his feet would take him. He was vaguely aware of the men who he could feel up ahead, and he took no time in killing them, taking their heads from their bodies. They held something between them, something with only a vague metal signature on one part of their-_

_Charles. Charles, Charles, it had to be him, everyone else was wearing all this equipment, all this armor, carrying guns and standing upright, and this was on the ground, metal pressed against a living thing, the iron in the blood-_

_the blood-_

_too much in the places it did not belong, not enough in the places it did-_

_and Erik sped up, hurrying as fast as he could, using the metal to rush his footsteps, and he skittered to a halt when he entered the hall-_

_“Don’t get all silly about it,” Sean was grumbling in response to something Charles must have said, because he was blushing furiously in Charles’ direction, grinning but acting as though he was not. The walls in this section of the hall had crumpled in on themselves, and Erik felt the familiar metal pressing against his mind, the metal that saw Charles. He could feel the armor of the men who lay, headless, at his feet, their weapons still at their waists, their heads rolled off._

_Charles turned his head, twisting around to look at Erik, and his battered face lit up. When Erik finally processed Charles, he hurried forwards, falling to his knees before him. Raven, rather wisely, got out of his way. Charles was a mess in Erik’s arms; his face was torn up, his temples burnt messes. His scalp was bleeding out of a million tiny pinpricks, blood welling up in his hair, showing through the dried blood that was already present. He had Sean’s jacket partially covering him, but what Erik could see of his skin was torn, bruised, bloodied, a tattered mess._

_Charles’ mind pressed against his, and it felt relieved, as though it was seeing the sun after many days blind. The presence of Charles in his head was off; something was wrong with it, and it weighed on Erik heavily. Erik clutched him close, mindful of the worst of his injuries, and exhaled raggedly._

_“You are never going into a fight without me again,” Erik growled near Charles’ ear, trying to close his eyes but unable to look away from Charles, even as he looked now. Charles’ mind, sharp in his, sang with pain, but Charles moved anyways, wrapping one arm around Erik. A brilliant, bright emotion - success, triumph - shined in both of their minds, and Erik, realizing what Charles’ mind was trying to do, opened himself fully, taking him in for whatever he needed._

_“My friend,” Charles replied, breathlessly, his mouth somewhere near the junction where Erik’s neck met his shoulder, “we were in this fight together the whole time.” Erik felt his own brow furrow, though all he processed was the confusion in his own head, trying to figure out what fight he was referring to, because it certainly could not be this fight-_

_Charles smiled into his neck, the stretch of skin on skin a breath of relief in their shared mind space.“You’re here, aren’t you?”_

Charles separated them, releasing Erik’s hands and slumping down ever so slightly in his chair. He brushed his thumbs under his eyes, catching the tears gathered there while Erik pulled himself back together. He was taking heavy, steadying breaths, his hands tightly gripping the arms of the chair, his fingers finding purchase in the rough material.

“I am sorry about that, my friend,” Charles assured him, surprised to find himself to be a bit breathless. “It had to be done-”

“Ich habe keine Zweifel,” Erik interrupted, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, “dass es getan werden musste- _Scheiße_ , shit, sorry.” Erik shook his head, as though knocking the German out, and began again. “I have no doubts that it had to be done. What bothers me is the manner in which it was done. Like you said, Charles, if we’re going to be this-” and Erik motioned between them with his right hand, his left hand still clinging to the chair- “-there will be none of that. We’re a team now, aren’t we? What did Cassidy call himself - an X-Man, right. We’re X-Men.”

Charles reached out and pried the fingers of Erik’s left hand from the arm of the chair. He held Erik’s hand tightly in both of his.

“We are a team, my friend,” Charles promised.

“Then _we_ , as a _team_ , are not doing that again,” Erik said firmly. He stood from the chair; Charles released his hand and craned his neck upwards to keep eye contact.

“Are you well otherwise?” Charles asked, trying to be as delicate as he could. Erik’s brow furrowed, and, _ahh_ , yes, Erik knows not of what does not slap him across the face with how obvious it is. “With- well, with staying here, and with the children-”

“Charles, do you truly believe I would be here if I didn’t want to be?” Erik deadpanned. Charles caught the edge of sincerity into only his mind, but also in his face. Charles smiled up at him.

“I suppose not,” Charles allowed. They both looked towards the front door when one of the small children outside let out a shrill shriek. Charles’ hand flew to his temple, and he skipped through the children’s minds until he landed in the mind of a guilty, horrified Scott. He sighed, his hand falling.

“Scott burnt the tops of some trees and frightened Wanda,” Charles explained, quickly wheeling himself from Erik, out the front door, and into the yard. He could hear Erik following close behind him, and so kept going until he reached the edge of the trees where the children were gathered. Alex was on his hands and knees in the dirt and frost, digging through the leaves. He was presumably searching for Scott’s eyewear, since the young boy in question was sitting in the dead grass, his entire face scrunched up, his eyes shut as tightly as he could manage. His hands were covering his eyes, as well, as though he wanted an extra precaution. Wanda was clinging to Sean while the young man tried to soothe her and calm her wailing. Pietro, Ororo, and Jean had gathered together, standing to the side in an awkward, tense clump. Jean reached a hand out hopefully towards Scott, but Ororo caught her wrist and stilled her.

 _Scott,_ Charles said softly in the child’s mind. Scott’s head snapped up, though his hands remained over his face and his eyes stayed firmly shut.

“Professor!” Scott exclaimed, tripping to his feet. “Professor, I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t, Professor-”

“Scott, it’s okay,” Charles said, effectively cutting off the young boy’s panicked stream of words. “Follow the sound of my voice to me, Scott, right to me. Follow the sound of my - there you are, right here, Scott, you’re doing splendidly-”

Charles reached down and caught Scott when the boy reached him. He hefted Scott into his lap and covered Scott’s small hands over his eyes with his own hand.

“What happened?” Charles asked softly. Scott took a couple of deep, steadying breaths before he spoke.

“We were playing tag, and Pietro was going really, really fast, and he fell and he grabbed my glasses, but he didn’t mean to, it wasn’t his fault, but he accidentally grabbed the back of them and they went into the leaves,” Scott exclaimed in one long breath. “My eyes were open for just a little bit because I was surprised, and I burnt the trees kinda on accident, and I scared Wanda, but I didn’t mean to, Professor, I didn’t mean to, I promise that I didn’t mean to, Professor-”

“Shh, Scott, shh, it’s okay,” Charles murmured, using his free hand to stroke Scott’s hair when the boy turned and pressed his face into Charles’ neck. “Nobody got hurt, right?”

“But Professor-”

“Scott, shh,” Charles repeated. He pulled the young boy back a bit when Alex finally located the eyewear and hurried to slide it over Scott’s eyes. Scott and Charles both dropped their hands, though Scott kept his eyes tightly shut. Alex tightened the straps and snapped it shut in the back, securing it on his brother’s head. “You can open your eyes now, Scott.”

“Are you sure?” Scott asked, his voice small. Charles put each of his hands on either side of Scott’s face.

“I’m looking right at you, Scott, and you’ll be looking right at me,” Charles said softly. “I trust you. Open your eyes.”

Scott cracked one eye open, then the other, slowly, before opening them both fully. He stared up at Charles with something akin to pure, innocent trust. Charles adjusted his grip on Scott and hugged the young boy tightly. Though the younger Summers brother preferred to act tough and like he was much older when around his brother, he was still only five. When Scott pulled back, Charles set him back on the ground.

“Nobody got hurt,” Charles repeated, leaning forward, nearly bent in half so that he could hold onto Scott’s small hands. “Mistakes happen. It’s okay. You’re getting better, Scott, you really are.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Scott replied graciously. He squeezed Charles’ hands before Charles released him. Scott walked away from him towards Alex; his older brother knocked his head lightly with a loose fist.

“Good work, shitshow,” Alex teased. Charles’ eyes narrowed at him, but he chose not to reprimand Alex, recognizing a Summers compliment for what it was. Scott beamed at his brother before remembering to hide his pride behind a scowl. Alex just tousled his little brother’s hair. Charles turned around to face the rest of the children, dimly aware of Erik kneeling on the ground a ways off with Wanda, working at calming her down.

“Okay, show’s over,” Charles announced, clapping his hands together. “It’s Saturday, so there’s no lessons today, but we could always just have an impromptu Game Night. How’s that sound?”

Pietro did not jump out of his own skin, but it was a close thing. Ororo nearly knocked Jean over in her excitement. Charles pat Jean’s head as Pietro sprinted off into the woods, reappearing in seconds. Charles turned around just as Erik took Wanda into his arms and stood.

“She’s just a little spooked, aren’t you, schneckchen?” Erik leaned in a bit, moving his face closer to his daughter’s. Wanda closed the distance between them, pressing her nose against his. “Scott wird dich nie verletzen. Du weißt das, nicht wahr?”

“Ja, ich weiß,” Wanda replied softly. She turned to look at Scott. “I’m sorry.”

“ _I’m_ sorry,” Scott answered eagerly. “I won’t hurt you ever, I promise, Wanda.”

“I know,” Wanda assured him. She tapped on Erik’s chest, and Erik set her down on the ground. She stepped tentatively towards Scott, then tripped the rest of the steps to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Charles smiled at them before his head snapped up.

“What is it, Professor?” Sean asked, leaning against a close tree trunk. Charles did not answer right away, staring off into the middle space, before his face broke open. He grinned like the sun.

 _Raven,_ Charles said, softly, into his sister’s mind.

_Charles, you promised-_

 _I can feel him,_ Charles interrupted urgently. _Your son. He’s not- He doesn’t think. I learned that children - infants - fetuses - they don’t think, they’re not really al- Okay, I can sense him, is what I’m getting at._

There was a moment of silence on Raven’s end before Charles felt a burst of _shockjoybliss_ shatter his senses. _Charles, where are you?_

 _I’m outside with the children, come here,_ Charles informed her softly. He dove into Hank’s mind briefly, telling him to come outside to them, before he pulled back into his own mind.

“Charles?” Erik asked when Charles blinked, focusing on his own environment. “Is something wrong?”

“For once, no,” Charles said, smiling. He shifted into full-out beaming when he saw Raven leaving the house, a nervous-looking Hank hovering at her side.

 _Nothing’s wrong, Hank,_ Charles assured the young man. Hank looked up at him as they approached.

 _I’ll believe that when I see it,_ Hank replied drily. When they finally reached the group at the edge of the trees, Raven threw herself into Charles’ arms. Charles shifted to allow her to perch on his lap as she buried her face into his neck.

“What’s it sound like?” Raven asked, her voice muffled by his skin. Charles raised the hand that was not wrapped around Raven to press his fingers to his temple, diving into the minds of both Raven and her child and projecting the child’s sensations in Raven’s direction. Raven gasped out loud. “ _Charles_.”

“I know, Raven,” Charles murmured out loud. He continued projecting for as long as he could before his mind snapped back to him like a rubber band. “I’m dreadfully sorry, his mind isn’t very strong at all, not yet, and I’ve not been performing at top form since-”

“Charles,” Erik interrupted. “Would you like to share with the rest of the class?”

“He can feel my son’s mind,” Raven informed them excitedly, pulling away from Charles slightly and sitting up. All the eyes turned to Charles.

“It’s just- impressions, really,” Charles explained. “They’re not fully formed, and they’re not _exactly_ entirely alive until they’re born, not really-”

“Save us the lesson, Professor,” Alex interrupted. He looked at Raven briefly before turning back to Charles. “That’s choice, though. What’s it sound like?”

Raven’s glance to Charles said enough to him that he did not project the sensations of her son’s mind into the minds of the others. Instead, he simply said, “Like white noise, in a way.”

“That sounds boring,” Ororo commented, in her high child’s voice. She immediately turned her attention to the sky. “Can I make it snow? It’s almost snow time.”

“Now could be snow time,” Sean added hopefully, already distracted. “It’s almost December.”

Charles marveled briefly at how short the attention spans of his children were before he looked up at the sky, as well. “I suppose it could be snow time.”

“It’s Thanksgiving a week from yesterday.” Pietro nearly vibrated in excitement as he rounded on his imagined track, nearly colliding with Erik’s legs as he did so. Erik reached down and lifted the boy by the scruff of his neck. For a brief moment, Pietro’s legs kept spinning in the air comically. Erik peered into the boy’s face.

“Is that so?” Erik asked. Pietro nodded eagerly, hanging from Erik’s grip as casually as though he was standing on the ground. Erik’s brow furrowed briefly, and he raised his head. Pietro finally struggled against Erik’s hand, and Erik set him down on the ground. Pietro shot off like a bolt again. “Everyone in my range is turning on their radios and televisions. There’s phones- There are a _lot_ of phones ringing.”

Charles lifted his head, sifting through the minds closest to his property. Raven climbed off of his lap, allowing Sean and Jean to approach her curiously. Charles frowned, his brow furrowing deeply, creasing his forehead.

“The President’s been shot,” Charles said bluntly. Alex dropped the twig in his hands.

“President Kennedy?” Erik asked, as though there could ever be another President. Charles felt the despair and sadness enter the minds of the children and adults around him. Pietro even skidded to a halt and frowned in the direction of the house.

“Charles!” Moira was calling from the front door, waving frantically to them at the edge of the trees. “Erik! Come inside - oh, God - you’ll never - the President’s dead!”

Charles looked towards Erik. Erik shut his eyes briefly.

 _The world is a dark place,_ Erik whispered into Charles’ mind. Sean was trying to look for all the world as though he was not crying, while Raven was openly brushing tears away from her eyes with her sleeves.

 _Then we’ll make a difference,_ Charles whispered back. Logan had joined Moira in the doorway as Charles began to lead his ragtag band back to the school. Erik nodded once to him and strode along at his side.


	17. Kill It Back To Life

“You’re going to kill it so hard that it comes back to life and just chokes again,” Alex laughed, pointing at Hank as he fumbled with the turkey. Hank grabbed its legs, but the bird promptly slipped out of his indigo hands. Alex snorted, covering his mouth as he guffawed. Charles reached over and smacked the back of Alex's head with a wooden spoon. When Alex half-scowled, half-smiled at him, Charles just passed him the wooden spoon.

“Stir,” Charles instructed, pointing to the pot he had been sitting at and watching over. Alex did as instructed. Charles slipped his hands into the grips on his Lofstrand crutches and attempted to stand. He managed to stand in spot for a moment through sheer force of will (and more than a little telekinesis) before he just fell back down into his wheelchair. “This isn’t going to work.”

Erik looked up from where he was frowning at a cookbook that Raven had thrust into his hands. “I can help. You know I can.”

“That’s rather not the point, though,” Charles snapped before sighing and pulling his hands from the grips. He rubbed at his forehead. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to-”

“I know,” Erik assured him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“We finished setting the table!” Ororo cheered, jumping over the threshold into the kitchen. “I did the napkins, and Pietro's getting the glasses.”

“Good work, Ororo,” Charles praised, reaching down to smooth her hair back, tucking a curled spring of white hair behind her ear. “You’re doing a splendid job.”

Ororo beamed at him. “Thanks, Professor!”

Charles laughed as Ororo took off in the direction she came in, nearly tripping over her own feet as well as the rug, her white hair flying behind her. Erik abandoned his cookbook when Wanda entered the kitchen, her small hands clutched behind her back.

“Hello,” Erik greeted her. She came to stand right beside his leg and stare up at him.

“Vati, I need your help,” Wanda insisted at once. Erik raised an eyebrow.

“With that?” Erik asked suspiciously. Wanda pulled her hands out from behind her back to present Erik with a hairbrush and an elastic.

“Will you braid my hair?” Wanda asked, her voice small. “It’s just- Jean was showing me picture stories in my head, and her Mutti used to braid her hair, and she really liked it, but I don’t _have_ a Mutti, but I have a _Vati_ , so I just…” Wanda held the hairbrush and elastic up a bit higher. “Please?”

“I’ll try my best,” Erik answered, taking the hairbrush and the elastic and turning her around. He snapped the elastic onto his wrist and examined her head. “I make no promises.”

Sean watched with a frown as Erik began brushing her hair back. “What’re you doin’, you ditz? You part it _there_ , see, and pull it over- there, see?”

Charles left them to it, wheeling out of the kitchen to the dining room where Hank and Alex were bringing the dishes out. Charles respectfully averted his eyes when Alex paused to murmur something in Hank’s ear. Charles cleared his throat as subtly as he could as he wheeled closer to the table.

“It looks magnificent,” Charles complimented them both. Alex blushed slightly, turning his face away from Charles as they both thanked him. Pietro dove at Charles just then, screaming “ _Happy Thanksgiving!_ ” in his ear. As the rest of their large school/family came to the table - Logan and Moira included - Charles wondered when everything got so horribly domestic. Likely when neither himself nor Erik was looking.

It about figured, Charles supposed, that everything went to absolute bloody _shit_ right after that.


	18. Sour Milk and Arsenic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not Jewish. If I got any details of Hanukkah wrong, let me know!

It was December 17th when Emma Frost finally returned to the mansion, searching for Erik and Raven. She found them in the living room with Charles and Pietro; all the other children were upstairs in their game room with Alex, Logan, and Hank, while Moira and Sean were out in town. Pietro, however, had been fighting a flu for a week now, and Charles insisted on keeping him close, trying to fight off the worst of the sensations of the flu in Pietro’s mind and perception. Pietro was dozing off in Charles’ lap, his face pressed into Charles’ chest, one of Charles’ hands pressed to the side of the small child’s head, when Charles felt Emma’s mind enter his range where he had previously felt nothing. She was on the grounds already; Charles immediately understood she had approached in her diamond form, and had to bite back a stream of curse words that would have woken Pietro. As it was, Erik and Raven both looked over at him, similar frowns of concern playing on their lips.

 _Emma Frost has decided to pay us a visit,_ Charles said softly in their minds. Erik was on his feet before Charles had even finished saying her _name_ , let alone speaking; Raven struggled to stand, accepting the hand that Erik offered her without too much grumbling and passive-aggressive glaring.

“What does she want?” Raven hissed, darting a glance out the window. Erik flexed his fingers out, then curled them into fists.

 _Hello, Emma,_ Charles greeted her casually through their shared preferred method of communication. _To what do we owe the pleasure?_

 _From what I can tell, Queen Elizabeth, you’re using the royal ‘we’_ , Emma replied. _Magneto and Mystique don’t sound too happy to see me._

 _Just tell us why you’re here,_ Charles asked, tired already of Emma and filled with the strong desire to have her off the grounds. He kept part of his concentration on not only soothing Pietro, but now also keeping him asleep. Emma breezed through the front door, opening it lightly and ghosting to them as though she lived there just as well as the rest of them did.

“It’s been over three months now,” Emma reminded them. “I gave you a grace period after the Professor’s little stint in the government facility, but it’s time to make a decision, Magneto. Stay or go.”

Erik glanced at Charles where the latter sat, Pietro asleep in his lap. Raven moved from the window to take Pietro from Charles. Emma’s eyes widened slightly as she took Raven in.

“My, my,” Emma murmured, looking the young woman over. “You’ve advanced.”

“I have,” Raven answered shortly. “I don’t plan on returning at the moment, Emma, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, sugar,” Emma purred. “There’s always tomorrow, and you’re in no condition anyhow. You know how to reach me.”

“I do,” Raven assured her. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” Emma watched as Raven left with Pietro; Charles kept close tabs on both of their minds as they moved, then spread out a bit, briefly checking each mind in the house before coming back to himself. Emma was moving towards him, a predatory glint in her eye. She chanced a look at Erik before she leaned over Charles.

“Without his helmet, he’s an open book,” Emma whispered, her sweet mint-and-champagne breath spreading over Charles’ lips as she leaned in. She dropped her hands down to his thighs, pressing closer, their minds touching, even as Charles tipped his head away from her. Emma cocked her head to the side, and Charles felt her rummaging in his head before she smiled, just slightly, enough to worry him when she turned to Erik.

“I thought I saw you two…” Emma trailed off, too much of a lady to finish that particular sentence. “But…”

“It’s none of your business,” Charles said, his tone dark. Emma straightened up, her hands falling from Charles’ legs as her head snapped around to look at Erik. She raised one perfect eyebrow at him.

“Wondering now, aren’t you?” Emma asked, turning her attention to Erik now. She circled closer to him, a lioness. Charles wondered where the woman who had helped to save him had gone, and realized this was the same woman - willing to help Erik with anything he needed to keep him loyal to her, to her cause. Erik stiffened, his spine going rifle-straight. “Wondering to yourself, ‘Why isn’t he responding to her? A beautiful woman…' and Charles _does_ like women, you know...” Emma shifted closer to Erik. “He lied to you.”

“Stop it,” Erik spat. Emma shrugged, lifting one white-cloth-covered shoulder.

“You don’t have to listen if you don’t like,” Emma muttered under her breath, just loudly enough for both of them to be able to hear it. “He _did_ lie, though. He can’t feel anything from the waist down.”

Erik’s frown shifted into a mask of neutrality. Charles’ heart sped up to a double-time tattoo.

“I’m no doctor,” Emma continued, “but that… that doesn’t quite add up, does it?”

“Erik-”

“Charles _lies_ ,” Emma hissed. “That’s what he _does_ , what he’s always done, lie to you. You’ll rule the world together, hand in hand, your mind perfectly attached to his, _the world’s strongest telepath’s pet_.” Charles flinched away from the ugly curl of her lips, the sneer of her words. Erik’s eyes flickered to Charles.

 _I will admit, you’re playing him like a fiddle,_ Charles whispered into Emma’s mind, his words closer to a snarl than they have ever been. _You’re a worthy adversary, Miss Frost._

 _That goes double for you, sugar,_ Emma replied, her voice sickly-sweet in his head. _We could have worked well together. Another life, perhaps._

 _Perhaps,_ Charles agreed, if only to keep her attention on him rather than the words she was intent on whispering into Erik’s ear. Emma clicked her tongue.

 _Don’t take this personally,_ she hummed into Charles’ mind before blossoming into her diamond form. “I’m sorry, darling, you know what they say. Diamonds are forever.”

“Indeed,” Charles murmured, glancing at Erik, who had, during the course of Charles’ short conversation with Emma, stepped away from them both.

“I can’t leave now, Emma,” Erik answered shortly. His fingers twitched at his side, and he raised his hands just in time to catch his helmet as it soared into the room. He set the metal frame on his head, and the sudden loss of Erik’s presence stunned Charles’ mind so harshly that he felt a brief wave of nausea. The empty nothingness where Erik ought to be settled in Charles’ mind uncomfortably, like a sip of sour milk and arsenic.

“Well, why ever not?” Emma asked, her tone suspiciously not unkind. She shifted and glittered as she caught the lamp’s shine and the fire’s gleam, decorating the walls with small sparkles and twists of light.

“I have obligations,” Erik answered firmly, purposefully vague. Charles’ mind moved swiftly, taking the minds of the occupants of the house behind his mental shields and walls, protecting them from Emma. Emma frowned at him, a dainty downturn of her lips, a tiny crease between her eyes.

“Better and better every day, Professor,” Emma said softly, looking Charles over. “You’d best be careful.”  She turned back to Erik, surveying him in silence for a moment before continuing. “If you change your mind, _Magneto_ , I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” Erik replied, surprisingly sincere. Emma turned on one sparkling, slightly-cracked heel and left the house. With his power, Charles followed the empty space where her mind ought to be for some distance before he let it fall into place as an unpleasant hum in the back of his mind. As he returned to himself, Erik flicked the front door shut without moving at all, the slight twist of his wrist the only evidence he was involved with the door at all.

“You stayed,” Charles said, a hint of surprise - and a lot of breathless happiness - coloring his words, his tone. “I would’ve thought-”

“You would’ve thought wrong,” Erik interrupted coldly. He moved towards Charles, each step sharp, harsh. His hands twitched at his sides in an aborted motion. “What have you lied to me about, Charles? You looked awfully guilty when Emma was making her… accusations.”

“Erik-”

“I asked you,” Erik growled, his hands curling into fists, “a _question_ , Charles.” The candlesticks on the mantle trembled. Charles dropped the minds of the others in the house to focus on Erik. “What have you lied to me about?”

“Erik, you must understand-”

“Understand what?” Erik snapped. Charles did not move, his spine horribly straight, even though he wanted to flinch back. “She said- She _knows_ you can’t feel- _Scheiße_ , Charles, god _damn_ it! You’ve been lying this whole _damn_ time!”

Charles watched Erik calmly while they both got themselves under control, Erik breathing heavily. Though Charles was projecting as much outward serenity as he could, the truth remained that, in the face of Erik’s rage, his heart was in his throat, throbbing against his neck. His palms were slick and freezing cold, his hands shaking, knocking into each other.

“I have not,” Charles began, slowly, once Erik seemed to have regained some semblance of control over himself, “been lying to you this whole time, Erik-”

“Why should I believe that?” Erik demanded. "You can’t feel from the waist down, can you? You can’t feel _anything_ , can you? You _used_ me, you _lied_ to me, you _kept_ me here, and I- I just _let_ you, I just let you, I should have- I should have _known_ …”

Erik’s fingers uncurled and flexed, still hovering by his thighs. He was wearing dark slacks, white socks, some hideous silver sweater with a large, painfully blue Star of David plastered on the front that Raven had gifted him for Hanukkah, and his helmet. The effect would have been comical, under any other situation; instead, Charles just felt sick.

Charles’ hands shot out to grip the armchairs of his metal wheelchair tightly when he felt the contraption begin to crumble beneath him.

“Erik, stop!” Charles shouted, trying to pull enough of his telekinetic abilities together to keep the wheelchair intact. “Erik!”

Erik raised his hands, and the handles snapped in towards Charles’ neck, as though they had a mind of their own. One of the candlesticks on the mantel clattered to the floor; another flew in Charles’ direction. He managed to get a hand up and catch the candlestick before it brained him.

“Erik!” Charles threw himself out of the chair and onto the floor, surrendering it, giving it up as a lost cause. “Erik, I- Yes, yes, I lied, about _one thing_ , will you _listen_ to me?”

“The time for listening has passed,” Erik snarled. The wheelchair caved in on itself, curling into a sharp-edged hunk of metal on the floor. Charles used his upper-body strength to push himself and maneuver until he was sitting upright on the floor. He looked up at Erik.

“I love you,” Charles said, bluntly, urgently. Erik’s hands faltered; his forehead creased. “I love you, Erik, I love you,” Charles repeated, the words reminiscent of their first night _together_ after Erik’s return, and Erik’s hands fell. “My friend, you may doubt a great many things, myself included, but you may never doubt that.”

Erik hesitated, his hands limp at his sides, his body coiled like a spring. “But you did lie.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Charles said, his words almost tripping over themselves. He willed himself to keep calm. “I knew you couldn’t react well, Erik, and I wanted to spare us that. Do not doubt my pleasure or my love.” Charles swallowed and folded his hands. “I only wanted to save you the pain.”

Erik glanced at the destroyed wheelchair before he slid his helmet off. He stared at it, feeling the metal’s familiar hum between his hands, while Charles took a moment to revel in Erik’s restored presence. The helmet flew across the room without warning, startling Charles as it clattered into the furthest corner. Erik fell to his knees at Charles’ side.

“I didn’t deserve to be saved the pain,” Erik murmured. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Charles’. “Charles, I didn’t… I didn’t-”

“Erik, I know,” Charles whispered back, reaching up to stroke Erik’s cheek briefly. “It’s okay, Erik, I understand, I under _stand_ -”

“Why did you lie?” Erik hissed, moving to pull back. Charles laid his hands on either side of Erik’s head and kept him in place, their noses almost touching.

“Because I was afraid,” Charles confessed. “I went into your mind, I just- I experienced what you were experiencing _with_ you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you apologize.” Erik shut his eyes. His shoulders slumped. “I could have hurt you. I could have killed you. I should- I should leave.”

“That’s not at all what you should do,” Charles argued. “That’s the _opposite_ of what you should do. You should stay here. You should raise your children. You should help me teach our students. You should calm down and recognize what I’m _saying_ to you.” Charles shut his eyes, as well, sliding his hands up to press against Erik’s temples. _You’ll stay here with us. We’ll work on all this. We’ll fix this. I promise._

_Charles-_

“Shh,” Charles interrupted before pressing their lips together fiercely. He gripped the hair at the back of Erik’s head with one hand, then pulled back. Erik blinked at him when they opened their eyes. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll work it out.”

The front door opened just then, and their heads snapped apart so they could see who arrived. Sean and Moira were standing in the doorway, Sean’s hand still on the doorknob as he took them in. His eyes flickered to the wrecked wheelchair. Sean instinctively pushed Moira behind him; she drew her gun from her waistband and leveled it at Erik over Sean's shoulder.

 _Professor, cover your ears,_ Sean nearly shouted into Charles’ mind.

 _No, Sean-_ Charles began to protest, but Sean opened his mouth anyways. Moira dove outside, and Charles threw his hands up over Erik’s ears on instinct, shutting his own eyes and exhaling brokenly as the scream that Sean let loose tore at his ears. Sean stopped almost immediately, and Charles’ hands fell. Erik flew to his feet.

“Sean, it’s okay,” Erik said cautiously, raising his hands peaceably, palms out. Charles raised his head, one of his hands pressed over his right ear.

“It’s okay, Sean,” Charles insisted. He pulled his hand away and frowned at the blood on his palm. He pushed his hand back into place against his ear. He dove into the frightened minds of the other occupants of the house and soothed them.

 _Sean was just startled,_ Charles lied easily into their minds, stopping them in their tracks. _Don’t worry about it. We‘ll be calling you down soon, however, so get ready to light the candles._

A barrage of acknowledgements briefly flooded his mind. Erik kept himself busy by forcing the wheelchair back into its original shape. Charles noticed the extreme care he was taking to make it perfect, better than it even had been before.

“I told the others that you were just startled,” Charles informed Sean. Moira stepped back into the house, her gun still drawn. “There’s nothing to be worried about. It was a small misunderstanding, and everything is okay. We had a charming visit from Miss Frost,” Charles added, watching as Sean’s eyes narrowed and Moira’s shoulders tensed, “but I don’t expect she’ll be back. Erik and Raven are staying with us.”

Sean and Moira both turned their attention to Erik, who was finishing repairing the wheelchair. He slid one arm under Charles’ knees and one behind his back, lifting him and placing him carefully in his wheelchair. Charles kissed the corner of Erik’s mouth as he pulled away.

 _Are you sure?_ Sean whispered into Charles’ mind at the same time Moira projected, _If I shoot him quickly enough, he might not have time to stop it, if you’d like,_ in Charles’ direction. Charles laughed out loud before he caught himself and covered his mouth. Sean raised an eyebrow at him.

 _I’m sure, Sean,_ Charles replied before switching to Moira’s mind. _I appreciate the offer, I do, but I’ll have to take a rain check._ Charles caught Erik looked at him, and switched minds again, moving into Erik’s warm, familiar mind. _We’ll discuss this later,_ Charles said directly into Erik’s sharp mind. Erik nodded, once. Charles touched his ear with his other hand and nodded to himself when his fingertips came back clean. Moira handed him a handkerchief, and he nodded gratefully to her, cleaning his hand and the side of his head.

“I’ll call everyone down,” Charles said aloud to the room at large. “Erik can light the candles in the hanukkiah, we can have dinner. It’ll be lovely.”

“Lovely,” Sean repeated, somewhat dazed by the past five minutes. Moira elbowed him sharply. “Yeah, lovely, yeah. Call ‘em down, Professor.”

“On it,” Charles murmured before dipping into the minds of the house’s occupants. _Come downstairs now, please._

Charles felt their minds leaving their rooms upstairs and filing down the stairs to come into the living room, where Charles was doing a quick survey as subtly as possible to make sure nothing was out of place. Raven looked at him suspiciously.

 _We heard a little bit of your fight,_ Raven explained in his mind. Charles nodded understandingly.

 _My apologies,_ Charles replied. _It’s resolved now. You needn’t worry._

 _I’ll always worry,_ Raven said back before withdrawing. Charles had to admit that having her back in his mind - even though he could only skim thoughts and basic emotions off the surface - was like water after a decade in the desert. He missed his sister’s mind so dearly, the beacon of light that had kept him going through his horrendous childhood. He took a brief moment to revel in the feel of it, like cool water over burnt skin.

“Erik, Hank, if you would,” Charles said, motioning towards the table and drawers. Erik opened the drawer with a flick of his wrist, the hanukkiah soaring through the air into Erik’s waiting hand. Hank fetched the eight candles and the shamash; Erik set the hanukkiah down and accepted the box of matches that Hank slipped into his hand. The children all shoved themselves in front of and around Erik, watching as Hank set the candles in place. Erik struck a match and lit the shamash. Charles sat back a bit, looking on as the children’s faces glowed in the light from the candles.

“Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha'olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah,” Erik murmured, lighting each of the candles with the shamash. “Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha'olam, she’asah nisim l’avoteinu, b’yamim haheim bazman hazeh.”

Charles shared a look with Hank, then with Logan. Jean scrambled closer to him, climbing into his lap and pressing her hand to his neck. He accepted the images and emotions she pushed towards him, of family, of belonging, of happiness. Charles wrapped an arm around her, the other arm winding around Raven’s waist. Raven smiled at him.

As far as their dinners usually went, this one was remarkably normal, save for Erik’s unusual tension. Charles worried for no less than half the meal that someone would be impaled with forks at any given moment. He left Hank and Logan in charge, claiming exhaustion and a headache, telling them he was retiring earlier than usual. Pietro accepted his hug tiredly, and this, perhaps, was the better part of Charles’ night, when Pietro mumbled, “‘Night, Daddy,” like it was nothing. The dishes froze in the sink where Erik was lazily washing them without even touching them, or even paying them all that much attention. Wanda’s brow furrowed.

“He’s not _Daddy_ , Pietro, he’s _Professor_ ,” Wanda reminded him. Pietro nodded, as though he had only just remembered that Charles was not his father.

“Sorry, Professor,” Pietro said quietly. Charles hugged him a second time, and if it was a little tighter than the first hug, Pietro chose not to comment.

“Don’t apologize, Pietro,” Charles instructed. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Pietro nodded, moving on to Logan and sleepily holding his arms up. Charles said the remainder of his goodnights and retired to his room. He felt Erik’s mind coming closer not too long afterwards, not even having given an excuse for heading to bed after he put the twins to bed. Based on the smug attitude on the edge of Raven’s mind, however, it was no secret to any of them - save the younger children - why Erik, too, had turned in early.

The lock on the door slipped into place behind Erik’s back when the man was finally standing in Charles’ room. Charles continued wheeling himself forward, heading for the chess set. Erik crossed the room to Charles in only a few long strides, reaching out and stilling Charles’ hands with a hand on each of his wrists.

“You can’t do what you did in there anymore, Erik,” Charles informed him, his head turned down. “That can’t happen. What if it wasn’t me the next time? What if it was Sean, or Moira, or, God forbid, one of the children, Scott or Ororo or Wanda?” Charles looked up at Erik. “You must learn control. You must-”

“-find the point between rage and serenity,” Erik finished for him, regardless of whether or not this was what Charles was going to say. He smiled, only slightly. “You know, Charles, I’m beginning to think you’re looking at that theory of yours all wrong.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes,” Erik assured him. He knelt beside Charles’ wheelchair. “You tell me that I have to find this point, within myself, this point between _rage_ and _serenity_. But I’m not sure it’s within myself.”

“Erik, I’m su-”

“Let me finish,” Erik interrupted, holding up a hand. Charles’ mouth snapped shut. “I’m rage. I know I’m not only rage, so don’t get all huffy, now, Charles, but I _am_ rage. My entire life was consumed by rage for so long - it’s a part of me. But you, Charles - you’re the serenity.” Erik motioned to the empty air between them, and it suddenly became full, charged with electricity and meaning. “We complete each other. Together, we _are_ this point between rage and serenity that you’ve been searching for. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do understand,” Charles agreed, softly. “I’m not only serenity, though, Erik.”

“You’re a damn good example for it, though,” Erik argued. “You’re not one-dimensional, of course not. Even the dimmest person couldn’t accuse you of _that_. But, Charles- where I’m rage, you are, undoubtedly, serenity.”

“So, your theory,” Charles began, summarizing, “is that, based on my theory, we are fated to be together?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds silly,” Erik grumbled before looking into Charles’ bright face. “I suppose that’s the bones of it, however.”

“I think it’s a brilliant theory,” Charles informed him, solemnly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips, “and I look forward to exploring it more.”

Erik leaned in, closer to Charles, presumably with the intent to kiss him, but Charles pressed two fingers to Erik’s lips, holding him back. Erik paused, freezing in place, blinking once at Charles.

“I want to reiterate, just for my sanity’s sake, that you are not to lose control again,” Charles repeated, slowly, waiting for it to sink in. His hand fell from Erik’s mouth. “You have no reason to doubt me.”

“You may lie again.”

“I’m certain that you lie to me on a daily basis,” Charles countered drily. “And there is so much of each other we do not yet know. Everything will come in time, Erik, I can assure you.”

“I love you,” Erik offered, his voice grave as anything. Charles nodded.

“I pray that’s enough,” Charles said, all soft corners and hesitation, projected directly at Erik. Erik jerked his head once in a pathetic facsimile of a nod. He pushed his sleeves up and reached forwards again, taking Charles’ head between his hands and kissing him almost chastely. Charles turned his head when they broke apart, his fingertips coming up to brush lightly over the numbers tattooed into Erik’s forearm. “Happy Hanukkah.”

“Happy Hanukkah, Charles,” Erik replied, pressing their lips together again.


	19. I Did What I Had To, When I Had To

“I really don’t think this is a good idea!” Sean shouted on Christmas Eve afternoon over the roaring wind as he stared down at the gravel so far beneath them. Erik stood to his right, Charles to his left. The children were all gathered behind him, peering curiously over each others’ shoulders to watch Sean’s great feat.

“You dove from the jet!” Charles shouted back. “You fell from the satellite!”

“I did what I had to, when I had to!” Sean replied. He glared nervously at the ground beneath them again, sliding away from Erik slightly and closer to Charles. Charles grinned while Erik just rolled his eyes. Sean stepped up onto the very edge of the mansion’s highest point, and was just barely contemplating actually making the jump when Raven cried out. Charles’ hands shot to press against his head in the same moment, but his projection defense was a split second too late, and everyone got a brief shot of blood-boiling pain before it disappeared. Sean tripped backwards off the edge of the building, his limbs flailing. Charles leaned forward in his wheelchair as far as he could without falling over the building.

 _You can do this, Sean!_ Charles shouted in Sean’s mind. Sean twisted around until he was stomach-down in the air, and he dropped his head to scream, sending him soaring over the trees. With Erik keeping a close eye on Sean, Charles turned to Raven, who was nearly doubled over.

“The baby,” Raven managed to gasp out. Hank’s face paled.

“Shit,” Logan cursed, without thinking. The shocked faces of five small children all turned towards Logan, Ororo’s little mouth falling open.

“Oh, my,” Hank murmured into the wind, the words lost to him as they whipped out of his mouth and were carried away in whistling silence.

“Charles-!”

“Yes, Raven, of course,” Charles said, out loud and in her mind. “I’ve got you.” He turned to Moira and Alex, and raised his voice, shouting over the rips of the wind. “Moira, you call the midwife for me! Alex, you go get Raven’s room ready for me! Do you understand?”

Both of them nodded, and Erik dragged Sean back onto the roof, having latched onto the metal in his suit to pull him back to safety. Charles left the two of them and Logan to herd the children back into the house as he wheeled himself inside.


	20. The West Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one more chapter after this: the epilogue!  
> If you've been reading this since the beginning, or you've read it later, or whatever it is you've done that brought you all the way here, I hope you've enjoyed the fic and its journey! Thank you for reading!

Though Charles much preferred to stay out of the minds of strangers, much less tamper with them, he found himself with no other option when it concerned the midwife and doctor present at the child’s birth. Raven, in her natural blue form, was certainly bad enough; her son, however, vibrantly blue and sporting a tail that could only have come from his father, was an entirely new level that Charles was certain Logan could come up with some colorful curses for. It is because of this that, fourteen hours after the scene on the roof, Charles found himself wiping the memories of the midwife and the doctor, replacing them with false memories of an entirely normal birth. Sean and Alex took the two civilians home, and Hank took the forms from them, promising Raven he would help her with whatever she needed in any regard. Charles had let a fond hand hover over the child’s head before he pressed a kiss to Raven’s forehead and left them to themselves.

Charles now wheeled himself into Raven’s bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him. Raven yawned, stretching one arm out above her as she turned her head to face her brother.

“You did a wonderful job, Raven,” Charles assured her, softly. Raven grinned, clearly exhausted.

“He’s charming, isn’t he?” Raven replied, shifting to reveal the child tucked against her side in her bed. She twisted to lift him up and pass him to Charles. “I can only assume that buying pants for him will be awful.”

“I imagine it will be,” Charles agreed before turning his attention to the boy. “What’s his name?”

“Azazel and I talked about it,” Raven began, hesitantly, the edge of worry on her voice. Charles frowned slightly, even as he watched the blue newborn sleep in his arms. “I had told him he had a say in the name, and he… he has this attachment to the name Kurt. I argued with him, but he-”

“Kurt,” Charles repeated, effectively cutting her off before she _really_ got going. He looked up at Raven. “It’s okay.”

“I know how you feel about-”

“It’s okay,” Charles repeated, soothingly. “You’re giving the name a fresh start. It’s a new beginning, and I’m sure that he’ll do the name far more justice.” Charles turned his face down again to observe his new nephew. “Kurt.”

“Kurt,” Raven said softly. She reached out, and Charles took her hand. “He’s beautiful.”

“Raven, he really, really is,” Charles agreed. “Well done.”

Charles felt the edge of Raven’s thoughts as she began to get antsy, seeing her son more than six inches from her, and he passed the child back. He watched as Raven tucked him against her side and curled around him. He wheeled a little closer and ran his fingers through her hair.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” Charles murmured to her. She hummed in acknowledgement of his words, her fingertips trailing from Kurt’s dark hair down his cheek. Charles leaned in, kissed her forehead, and left the room. The door swung shut behind him without a hand even near touching it, and Charles looked up to find Erik leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

“You’ve been projecting,” Erik informed him, pushing away from the wall. “What upset you?”

Charles frowned at him. “I’m not upset. I am, actually, quite happy. Kurt is perfectly healthy, and very handsome. I’m sure you’ll agree when you see him.”

Erik’s eyes flashed briefly as he looked Charles over, a look on his face that was plainly disbelieving. “You’re still a bit upset, Charles.”

Charles looked over his shoulder, briefly, at the door to Raven’s room, before he sighed heavily. He turned back to Erik. “This is a conversation best had in private. If you would.” Charles motioned for Erik to follow him, and follow him he did as Charles led the way, past the bedroom he and Erik had been sharing, to Charles’ study. The door flung itself open before he could touch the doorknob, clearly Erik’s doing. Charles wheeled himself through the doorway towards the fire. He reached up, his hand fumbling on the mantle until he fingers closed around a matchbox. He struck a match and threw it onto the logs in the fireplace. He watched the fire crackle and grow in silence. Erik waited for Charles to speak, standing beside him, one hand resting on the brick above the mantle. Finally, Charles inhaled, and began to speak.

“My parents were Brian and Sharon Xavier. I don’t remember much of my father… He died, when I was very young. He was a nuclear scientist, and a very good one, at that. He died in an accidental explosion at his nuclear facility. My mother- Well, my mother, she was a... woman of opportunity, let’s say. She married a colleague of my father’s not long after he passed, a man by the name of Dr. Kurt Marko. It was around when they got married that my mutation began to manifest. I was- well, probably four. I remember that, being shocked into crying when I believed my mother said out loud that she wanted me to go away. She only thought it, I eventually realized. My father had loved me very dearly, from what I can remember, but my mother had no such attachments.

“Kurt had a son, Cain. My stepfather often came into these fits of rage, and the victims of that rage tended to be myself and Cain. Cain, however, took after Kurt in this very unfortunate way, making me into the victim for _his_ rage. It was a rather unpleasant childhood. My mother cared very little for me, if she cared at all. Kurt beat Cain and me; I felt my own as well as Cain’s, due to my lack of control in my abilities at the time. Cain beat me. It was all rather dreadful, really, until Raven broke in.

“Raven was the best part of my childhood. She was… a point of light, in the darkness, if you will. I kept her secret; I hid her from the rest of my… my family. She always assumed I didn’t want them to know about her because of her appearance, and I never bothered to correct her. I didn’t want her to be afraid. I kept her safe, hidden from them, to protect her. My mother died when I was about ten. It was her liver, unsurprisingly; she drank herself to death.

“My mother’s funeral was well-attended, but I don’t think I ever cried over her death. She never cared for me, and I kept myself distant once I realized that nothing I did could make her love me like I thought she should. The distance worked in my favor when she passed away. After she died, Kurt kept custody over myself and Cain, and Raven remained here in our home. I kept her safe. Until, when I was about fourteen, and Raven was twelve, Cain found her. We were in the west wing-”

“The west wing,” Erik finally interrupted, drawing Charles’ eyes up to him in surprise. “The west wing nobody is allowed in?”

“Yes, the very same,” Charles assured him, his dry humor falling flat with the gravity of his story He turned back to the fire and continued. “I hid Raven in the west wing. There was a room that I had found, you see, that could only be accessed if you found the right candlestick on a very old desk that had been bolted into the floor. That was Raven’s bedroom when we were young. One day… And I don’t even remember why anymore, but Cain was up there. He found me and Raven in the room outside Raven’s bedroom, and he called for his father. Kurt came upstairs, and I heard his thoughts when he saw Raven. He had this rage inside of him, this anger… these emotions that I had never quite felt before, and hadn’t since until I…” The silent _until I met you_ went unsaid, but they both heard it as though Charles had shouted it. Charles continued. “I panicked. He had such _intentions_ , even past the rage, and I got very protective of her.

“The police reports say that Kurt Marko died in a house fire. The west wing was a right bloody mess; everything was burnt to a crisp and absolutely ruined. I imagine it still looks that way, but I’ve never returned to it. I imagine I’ll soon have to. I have to fix it up, for the school. But a part of me died that day when I killed Kurt.” Charles ran his fingers through his hair, his hands shaking. “I’m sure that, if the fire hadn’t destroyed everything, there would be very incriminating things in that west wing.” Without looking up at Erik, Charles explained, “His head exploded. I killed him.”

“Charles…” Erik said, slowly, reaching out to grasp Charles’ shoulder. Charles shrugged him off before he was even touched.

“Cain ran off. He was terrified of me, and that felt… good, briefly, but, in the long run, rather sour. I haven’t seen him since, and I can’t imagine where he got off to. I only hope he never returns. As for myself and Raven, I got a job to pay our basics. We moved out, finished high school. I went to Bard for two years, then I turned eighteen, and I paid for our education using the money left to me by my father’s death. Raven… refused, to attend college, after her first year. When I graduated, we moved to England, and I attended Oxford. Moira came to me after I graduated from Oxford and became a professor. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“I had no idea,” Erik breathed. “Charles-”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Charles interrupted. He could feel himself shutting down, closing off. He had never had to _tell_ the story of his life before, and it made him feel strangely empty inside. “It was nothing. I mean, _you_ -”

“Don’t,” Erik cut him off, “compare yourself to me. It’s entirely different circumstances. And you know what happened to me, that’s not- _Charles_.”

Charles looked up at the tone of Erik’s voice, particularly how wrecked he sounded. Erik was already looking down at him. “I suppose, now you know. How I survived, living in such… hardship,” Charles said, reminding Erik of that short conversation they had had when Erik and the others arrived at the mansion for the first time. Erik shut his eyes, just for a second, before he refocused on Charles.

“Why did you come back?” Erik asked, quietly. “After everything that happened here-”

“We needed a place to go,” Charles answered, his voice just as soft against the crackle of the fire, “and I had a place for us to go. It only made sense. And, now, the school. I’m sure my father would like what I’ve done with his estate.”

“I don’t know why I expected any different from you,” Erik commented. He ran the hand not pressed against the brick through his hair. “You’re just so… _Charles_.”

“I suppose I rather hoped so,” Charles said, struggling to get a grip on a lighter atmosphere.

“Why were you upset, then?” Erik prodded, and perhaps it was Charles who should be wondering why he expected any different.

“Raven has decided to name her son Kurt,” Charles informed him bluntly. “She told me the name means a lot to Azazel, and she wasn’t lying. And I’m not… _upset_. I was just surprised. But, it’s as I told her, her son will give the name new life. It’s a new beginning.” Charles reached up and let his fingers breeze along Erik’s upper arm until Erik lowered his arm enough for Charles to take his hand. “This is all a new beginning, Erik. A chance to begin anew. In the years of our lives… we have passed through our winters, and this is the spring.”

“You’re waxing poetic,” Erik pointed out. Charles smiled and tapped his fingers against the back of Erik’s hand in an imagined beat.

“I’m allowed. My dear sister has just had a _child_ , my lord, I feel so _old_.”

“You are old,” Erik teased. “An old professor, in his old mansion, in his old sweaters.”

“Don’t make fun of my sweaters,” Charles warned. Erik let go of Charles’ hand, drawing a brief noise of discontent from Charles before Erik gripped the hem of his sweater and tugged it over his head. He cut the noise short, pulling instead a rather eager noise from the now bare-chested Charles. Erik raised an eyebrow at him.

“Have you been working out?” Erik asked sincerely. Charles looked down at his own torso.

“I- Yes, I have,” Charles answered. “Without my legs, I suppose- I suppose I wanted to be as strong as I could be. Just in case, you know.”

“You look fantastic,” Erik managed to get out before he was crushing their mouths together. He swallowed Charles’ thanks.


	21. Epilogue: The X-Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the epilogue! It's the end.  
> To quote every senior yearbook ever, "What a long, strange trip it's been."  
> For all of you who've read this, thank you for staying with me until now.  
> I hope you enjoyed the story!  
> I'll quote every senior yearbook one more time: "Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened."

 

**Epilogue**

* * *

_**Charles** _

For Charles, the days and weeks began to fly past with remarkable speed. He found himself teaching the children with renewed earnest following the Christmas of 1963. Midway through February of 1964, however, Charles found himself surprised, genuinely surprised, for the first time since Erik chose to stay at the school, when he awoke to find his bed empty and cold and the hallway outside his bedroom silent. He lifted the clock on his bedside table and read 7:37 as the time. He instinctively scanned the minds closest to him, and relaxed upon finding nothing immediately wrong. He fell back against his pillows as he skimmed Hank’s mind.

 _What’s going on?_ Charles asked the young man. Hank’s mind grew quickly tense and surprised, then snapped back into a kind of charm and calm. _Hank? Has something gone wrong?_

 _Actually, Professor, for once, no,_ Hank replied, his mental voice a strange sort of amused. _Nothing’s wrong._

_Is Erik with you?_

 _Yes, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy,_ Hank informed him, his tone jokingly grave. _If I told you, I’d have to kill you, and then Erik would probably make me shoot myself- Oh, no, I think someone asked me a question while I was talking to you- I think Erik knows-_

 _Hank looks incredibly guilty,_ Raven’s cheerful voice said in Charles’ head, nearly shouting over Hank’s mental voice to make herself heard. She was the best at broadcasting her thoughts, having been taught to do so by her brother for many years before they had even met any of the others. _And now Erik looks slightly murderous. I’m sending him your way, just so you have a heads-up._

Surely enough, Charles could feel Erik’s familiar presence approaching their bedroom. He sighed and withdrew from the minds of Hank and Raven, rubbing at his temples and shutting his eyes again. It was far too _early_ for this nonsense, even for a Friday, when classes began at ten o’clock. Erik pushed the bedroom door open, his hand lingering on the doorknob.

“I know you’re awake,” Erik said, softly. Charles sighed again, scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Charles asked, his eyes still closed. He yawned. “It’s seven in the morning.”

“Do you know what today is?” Erik asked, gently shutting the door behind him and coming up to Charles’ side of the bed. He sat on the very edge of the bed. Charles rolled his head to the side and squinted up at Erik.

“Uhm. Friday?” Charles answered haltingly. Erik raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s February 14th,” Erik informed him. When faced with Charles’ extended blank stare, Erik took pity on him. “Valentine’s Day.”

Charles snapped his fingers and pointed at Erik. “That’s the chap. Yes, I suppose it is, isn’t it?”

“Raven threatened me with castration,” Erik said drily, “if I let this slip by.”

“Yes, well.” Charles stretched his arms above his head, breathing out in relief when his joints popped. “I wouldn’t cross Raven. Did she give you a reason?”

“Does Raven need a reason?”

“I suppose not,” Charles said aloud before he said, to the very surface of Raven’s thoughts (the only place he was allowed), _Why did you threaten to castrate Erik?_

 _Because you deserve this,_ Raven replied easily. _I’m sure it won’t be that bad. He doesn’t bite._

“Raven has ensured me that her threat came to you because I, and I quote, ‘deserve this’,” Charles explained. He forced himself up into a sitting position. “She also promised me that you don’t bite.”

“Raven shouldn’t make promises she can’t keep,” Erik replied, smiling. Charles’ eyes flicked to the door, and Erik raised a hand, twisting his wrist. The lock clicked shut, loud and incredibly audible in the silence of the bedroom.

“Did you have plans for Valentine’s Day?” Charles asked, his eyes shifting from the door back to Erik. Erik’s smile blew into a full-blown grin.

“Don’t tell Raven,” Erik warned, “but this is my plans for Valentine’s Day. Alex and Hank are taking our classes.”

“Comment romantique,” Charles laughed. Erik pulled Charles’ quilts back and covered his body with his own.

“Your French is doing very well,” Erik murmured, pressing his lips to Charles’ neck. “How’s your German?”

“Welche romantik,” Charles said obediently, his breath hitching at the end. Erik clicked his tongue against Charles’ throat.

“Close.” Erik lifted his head to look into Charles’ eyes. “Wie romantisch.”

“Say something else,” Charles ordered. Erik raised an eyebrow.

“Ich liebe dich.” Erik pressed his lips to Charles’ collarbone before he bit down. Charles bit his lip and muffled a sound that was almost embarrassingly high. “Ich liebe auch, dass du glauben, dies ist ansprechend. Die meisten leute denken, das ist eine böse sprache-”

Charles grabbed Erik’s head and dragged his face up. “Subsisto loquebantur.”

Erik opened his mouth to reply, but Charles claimed his mouth before he could. He tried to say anything in reply - “ _Happy Valentine’s Day_ ,” perhaps, or,  “ _I didn’t know you spoke Latin_ ,” or maybe even, “ _Oh, mein Gott, ich liebe dich so sehr_ ,” but, as it turns out, the language he was most fluent in was Charles.

* * *

_**Moira** _

Moira was rarely, if ever, caught off-guard. In fact, she prided herself on _exactly_ how seldom she was caught off-guard. She was not caught off-guard when Charles told her he needed to pull her memories from him, nor was she caught off-guard when Scott tripped, blinked, and nearly blasted her arm off, when a rainbow appeared in her bowl of soup when Ororo smiled, or when Warren first arrived at the school in March and knocked over a bunch of candlesticks when Wanda asked what his mutation was. She was, however, caught _incredibly_ off-guard when Sean dropped down on one knee at breakfast on March 3rd.

“I didn’t know we were dating,” Moira hissed. Sean’s entire face fell, and his hands dropped to his bent knee, the ring box hanging from his fingers. “I didn’t even know we were going _steady_!”

“Ooh, God, this is so bad,” Raven said under her breath. Logan lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her out of the room. Charles herded the small children out like ducklings, leaving Alex to drag a stunned-looking Hank out the back door into the kitchen. Moira grabbed Sean’s upper arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about this?” Moira asked, leading him back into his chair. Sean dropped the ring box on the dining room table and ran his fingers through his shaggy red hair.

“Because Alex said I should surprise you,” Sean answered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “He said it would be _romantic_.”

“If you never did something Alex suggested you do again, it’d be too soon,” Moira sighed. She reached out and pulled his hands away from his face. “Sean, you have to _communicate_ with me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I understand,” Sean assured her. He kept his eyes on their hands, playing with her fingers with an eerie sort of focus. “I’m _so_ sorry, Moira, I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to-”

“Sean, Sean, calm down.” Moira pulled his hands up and gripped them tightly. “Look at me.”

Sean looked up at her, his eyes glistening. Moira released one of his hands to swipe her thumb under one of his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Sean raised both of his eyebrows. “Why are _you_ sorry? I’m the one who-”

“ _Sean_ ,” Moira interrupted. Sean let his face lean into Moira’s palm. “I just wish you would’ve talked to me more first.”

“If you didn’t think we were going steady,” Sean began cautiously, “what did you think we were doing?”

Moira opened her mouth, then closed it again, her brow furrowing. She went into town with Sean all the time, going to movies, going to lunch, going to dinner, going window-shopping, going…

Oh, _God_ , they were going steady.

“How long has this been going on?” Moira demanded. Sean frowned slightly at her.

“I don’t- A while, I guess,” Sean answered. “Since before Wanda and Pietro got here, I guess. I could’ve sworn you knew, I didn’t know you-”

“How could _I_ have known, you didn’t say anything-”

“Whoah, whoah, alright, hold on,” Sean said, waving his hands around in the air between them. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something, but, I mean, what _did_ you think we were doing?”

“I honestly- I didn’t think about it,” Moira admitted, scratching at the back of her head awkwardly. Sean let out a low whistle and leaned back in his chair, one hand falling over his eyes.

Moira had not been lying when she said she was rarely caught off-guard. Her feelings for Sean were something she recognized a long time ago, even before she could act on it, back before Charles kissed her, back before Cuba. She had grown into her feelings, adjusted to them, learned to live with them. That they had been getting closer, spending a lot of time together - all that was an added bonus, in her mind. She had no idea-

“You love me,” Moira said abruptly. Sean jerked up, his hand dropping onto the dining room table with a harsh _smack_.

“I do,” Sean affirmed immediately. “I do- I mean, yeah, I do. I love you.”

Moira laughed, and Sean frowned. “I don’t understand what’s so-”

“I love you, too,” Moira insisted. Sean grinned widely at her, his freckled face shifting to accommodate his wide smile. He crossed his legs up on the chair. “I don’t…”

Moira paused, thinking. She had had to leave her job, and so Charles had offered her a position at the school, training the students for combat. She rarely left the school until Sean took her into the town. She loved Sean. There was honestly no reason to reject him.

“I’ll marry you,” Moira informed him. Sean’s feet slammed onto the floor.

“What?” Sean choked. Moira bit back another laugh.

“I said, yes,” Moira repeated, “I’ll marry you.”

Sean laughed and had just barely gotten the ring on Moira’s finger before they heard a delighted squeal come from the room next door.

“She said she’ll marry him!” Ororo’s small voice screeched from the other side of the door. Her exclamation was followed by a small _thump_ and a pained “ _Ow_ , Scott!”

“Is she braindead?” Alex laughed. His words were followed by a second _thump_ , and an angry “What the _fuck_ , shitshow?”

“If we sneak out the back,” Sean whispered, beaming, “they’ll never find us.”

Moira snatched Sean’s hand and darted out the door to the kitchen with him, nearly colliding with Warren as they did so. Sean stepped back, looking at the young boy before him.

“I thought you were outside practicing with Erik,” Sean hissed quietly. Warren frowned.

“Mr. Lehnsherr told me to keep watch,” Warren informed him politely. Erik stepped into the kitchen from outside, throwing a scowl Warren’s way. The boy just stared back without blinking.

“And a fine job you’re doing of that,” Erik growled before looking at Moira and Sean. He finally just settled for directing his words to Moira. “Judging by the frankly insane bursts of excitement inside my head, you only have about a minute before they come searching for you.” Erik stepped aside. “Run.”

Sean eyed Erik briefly before he tightened his grip on Moira’s hand and took off out the back door onto the grounds. Moira laughed as she felt the wet, cold grass under her bare feet, the winter air crisp and biting against her skin that was not covered by her nightgown.

* * *

_**Alex** _

“Alex, you owe me a thousand dollars,” Ororo exclaimed, her voice somehow impatient despite the fact that she had _just_ spun the wheel. Alex rifled through his stack of money and handed her a thousand-dollar bill. “Everyone has to give me a thousand dollars! Alex, tell them!”

“The two on the spinner does not lie,” Alex said dramatically to the children sitting around the board in front of him. Jean passed her bill over easily; Scott passed his over with no small amount of grumbling. Wanda handed over hers, as well as Kurt’s. Kurt stared blankly at her before rolling over onto his side. Alex reached over to place the little blue brat in his lap. Pietro grabbed two of Warren’s bills and gave them to Ororo, but Warren just let his wings snap out. Pietro quietly put one of Warren’s bills back and passed Ororo one of his own in its place.

“Thank you,” Ororo cheered, beaming at the group. She turned to Alex. “It’s your turn, Mr. Summers!”

“Ororo, c’mon,” Alex murmured, trying not to blush. “It’s just Alex, you don’t have to call me Mr. Summers all the time.”

Ororo’s tiny forehead creased in confusion. “But… Professor Charles says we have to call the adults by polite names.”

“I’m not really much of an adult,” Alex confessed. “I’m more of a really big kid. I’m a student here, too, like you. I’m just older, and I have to teach some classes sometimes.”

“Like magic control!” Wanda added helpfully. Alex nodded.

“Yeah, like magic control.” Alex leaned forward, reaching around Kurt to flick the spinner. He landed on a six and moved his tiny car forward. Wanda screamed in delight, causing Kurt to jump. He buried his face in Alex’s chest, holding onto fistfuls of Alex’s t-shirt.

“You’re getting married!” Wanda declared, pointing excitedly at the space Alex had ended up on. “You’ve got to pick a peg for your car!”

Alex took the baggie offered to him and pulled out a blue peg. Scott pinned him with a small, thoughtful frown.

“The blue pegs are the boys,” Scott informed him quietly. Alex looked down at the little blue peg in the palm of his hand. “Boys can’t marry boys.”

Alex closed his fingers around the peg. “You know how Professor Xavier and Mr. Lehnsherr love each other?”

“Aren’t they brothers?” Warren asked, seemingly confused. Kurt flopped himself onto his back in Alex’s lap and laughed to himself.

“No,” Alex said, slowly. _What’ve you been telling these kids about you and Erik, Professor?_

 _Nothing,_ Charles’ confused voice floated back to him. _Why do you ask?_

 _They seem to think you two are brothers,_ Alex replied. Charles’ mental laugh resounded in his head.

 _You may correct their assumptions,_ Charles allowed. _Why, if I may ask, did this come up?_

_I’m explaining to them why I chose a blue peg for my car when I got married._

A pause, then, _Ahh. Very well, then._ Another pause. _I’m very proud of you, Alex._

 _Thanks, Professor,_ Alex replied, feeling like even his mental voice was blushing as he pulled out of the conversation. Conversations with Charles always made him feel strange and echo-y. He looked at the children are staring at him expectantly.

“Professor Xavier and Mr. Lehnsherr are in love, like a woman and a man usually are,” Alex attempted to explain. The children’s expressions all immediately became thoughtful as they considered his words.

“Are they going to get married?” Scott finally asked. Alex shook his head.

“No, they can’t right now because it’s against the law,” Alex told them. Their faces all fell at the same time. Alex was beginning to get a little creeped out.

“Why is it against the law, if they love each other?” Pietro asked, seemingly bewildered.

“I really don’t know,” Alex admitted. “Some people don’t understand. Like how they don’t understand mutants like us.”

This seemed to resonate with the children. They all looked at each other in sudden understand before Wanda turned back to Alex.

“Does this mean I have to call Professor Charles _Mutti_ instead?” Wanda inquired politely.

“What’s Mutti mean?” Alex asked.

“Mommy.”

“Well, yeah, then, no,” Alex said, trying not to laugh. “Do you want to call him something other than Professor Charles?”

“Can we call him Daddy?” Wanda asked. Alex blinked.

“Maybe ask the Professor about that later,” Alex deflected, sticking the blue peg that was still in his palm into the passenger seat of his tiny car.

“Are you in love with a boy, too?” Warren asked. Alex dropped his car. Kurt immediately snatched it up, clearly aiming to shove it in his mouth, and Alex pried it out of his little chubby hands.

“I like boys, yeah,” Alex replied, staring down at the car as he set it back on the board. Warren raised an eyebrow at him.

“But do you love any particular boy?” Warren pressed. Alex kept his attention on the top of Kurt’s head.

“I do,” Alex finally answered, “but that’s a story for another day. Jean, it’s your turn.”

Jean leaned forward and cheerfully turned the spinner. Alex only looked up when he felt eyes on him; he lifted his head to find Scott’s eyes on him.

“It’s okay,” Scott said softly. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I know,” Alex said, too quickly. Scott’s face crumpled a little bit, so Alex just leaned over and ruffled his little brother’s hair. “Thanks.”

“You got a four, Jean!” Pietro exclaimed, pointing at the spinner. Jean’s car moved forward four spaces, seemingly of its own accord. Warren laughed.

* * *

_**Raven** _

“For the love of _God_ , Kurt, will you just _stay still_?” Raven exclaimed, struggling to keep her five-month-old son in his clothes. Kurt laughed delightedly, tugging at his shirt until it was over his head. Raven nearly shrieked in frustration. Kurt blinked at her angry face and disappeared. Raven stepped back from the changing table in an immediate panic. Kurt appeared on the floor in front of her in the next instant, his face a mask of incredible surprise as he popped back into the room. He burst into tears, and Raven hurriedly bent down and scooped him up, holding him close.

“Charles!” Raven screamed, clutching his son as tightly as she could as she tried to soothe him. “For the love of- Hank! Anybody?!”

Hank came skidding into the room thirty seconds later, his expression concerned and wild. “They’re taking a field trip into town today, I’m sorry, I was in the lab and Logan’s- Doesn’t matter,” Hank gasped, catching his breath. “What’s wrong?”

Raven only realized she was crying when Hank reached forward, one furry blue hand swiping her tears off her left cheek. “I was- I was changing Kurt, and he-”

“Raven, calm down,” Hank insisted, grabbing her upper arms and holding onto her tightly. He forced her to look into his eyes. “Tell me what happened. Are you okay? Is Kurt okay?”

“I- Yes, he-” Raven swallowed and tried to calm herself down. “Kurt teleported.”

Hank blinked, then turned his face down to look at Kurt. “He did? That’s an incredibly early manifestation of powers, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you told me your powers manifested at birth, and I can only assume Azazel’s did, as well, since Kurt was born with blue skin and a tail, which likely means Azazel was born with his red skin and _his_ tail-”

“Hank, we can explore the science of it later,” Raven insisted, barely keeping herself into falling into a full-scale panic attack, “but my _son_ can _teleport_. He’s five months _old_ , Hank, what do I do?”

Hank reached in and cautiously lifted Kurt out of Raven’s arms. He looked the child over carefully before tucking him into his chest. Kurt stopped crying almost immediately, comforted by Hank’s soft fur and warm skin. He looked up at Raven, who was hugging herself tightly, her arms wrapped around her own torso. “I’ll work on developing something for him. A necklace, maybe, or a wrist cuff, to keep him from teleporting while he’s wearing it. This is a mutation he can’t really control, and it really wouldn’t be good if he just disappeared with no way of knowing where he was going.”

“Oh, you think so?” Raven bit off sarcastically. Hank just ignored her, or otherwise did not comment on her words.

“I’ll get started right away,” Hank informed her patiently. He passed a now-quiet Kurt back to her. The boy had a contemplative look on his face as Hank crouched to look into Kurt’s face. “Do not teleport anywhere until I finish this. Do you understand me?”

“Probably not,” Raven answered helpfully for her son. Hank raised one eyebrow at her before straightening up and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“It’s going to be okay,” Hank assured her. “I promise. I’ll start working on this right away.”

“Thank you, Hank,” Raven said sincerely. Hank offered her a quick smile before he hurried out of Kurt’s bedroom. Kurt looked up at his mother. “You just had to take after him, huh? Couldn’t’ve taken after me. I’ve gotta tell you, Kurtie, I’d’ve rathered you just spontaneously turned into Stalin or something.” Kurt just blinked at her. Raven sighed and hitched him up further on her hip. “Why don’t we go find you a snack, hmm? Erik’s not here, so we can probably steal something he’s hidden away in the kitchen.”

Kurt laughed and grabbed a fistful of his mother’s hair. Raven tightened her grip, just a bit, just in case.

* * *

_**Ororo** _

Ororo stared up at the sky, her small tongue poking out between her lips as she concentrated. Her hands were raised above her head, her fingers splayed wide in the air. She finally let out a long, heavy breath and let her hands fall to her sides.

“I can’t do it, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Ororo insisted pitifully. She fell onto her knees and continued looking up at the sky. There was not a cloud in sight, much to her dismay. “I’m not that good.”

“Nonsense,” Erik argued. He sat down beside her in the grass and pointed up at the sky. “What’s that cloud look like?”

Ororo turned to look at him as if he had gone mad. “There’s no clouds up there, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

Erik looked at her, then back up at the sky again, frowning. “Oh. So there isn’t. Well, if there _was_ a cloud there, what would it look like?”

“A cloud.”

“I mean,” Erik began again, relaxing enough to lay down on his back in the damp grass, “what shape would it look like? You know how you and Jean find pictures in the clouds?”

“Yes?” Ororo confirmed, confused.

“What could a cloud that went right there,” and Erik pointed to the same spot again, “look like? If you could pick anything.”

Ororo thought for a moment. “A milkshake.”

“Milkshake it is,” Erik agreed. He stretched one hand above him, almost lazily, his other arm bent behind his head. A ball of metal Erik occasionally screwed around with flew from the side of the house into place above them. Ororo laughed in delight and laid down on her own back beside Erik, watching as Erik used his abilities to twist the metal into the shape of a milkshake. She clapped her hands.

“How’d you do that?” she asked, entranced by the hunk of metal hovering just out of her reach. Erik let the milkshake-shaped metal float down towards his hand, suspended in the air just above his palm.

“I used my powers,” Erik told her, his tone hushed, as though it was a secret. He moved the metal over her face, momentarily blocking her eyes from the hot July sun. “Just like you can do. I made a milkshake. Now _you_ make a milkshake. You just have to focus.”

Erik lowered the metal down beside her. Ororo watched it for a moment before she looked up at the sky. Her head still resting on the grass as she lay on her back, she raised her hands up. Her small forehead creased in concentration as her fingers flexed and curled in towards her palm, then out again. Her back arched off the ground in her strain. A small rainbow popped in and out of existence, but Ororo just concentrated harder. Small white wisps began manifesting out of nowhere in the sky, pulling together into a small shape that resembled Erik’s metallic milkshake closely enough for her to let out a breath sharply and collapse flat against the ground again, her arms falling to her sides. One smacked into Erik’s stomach, but he just reached over and ruffled her white hair.

“You did a fantastic job, mein besonderes kind,” Erik assured her. Ororo pressed her face into his side, clearly pleased and feeling bashful about accepting his compliment. Erik more than understood her decision not to speak, and simply wrapped her arm around her shoulders, holding her close and observing the sky as three more rainbows popped into existence and soared across the sky. Ororo sighed happily, delighted with herself for her success.

She was less delighted, however, with her involuntary conjuring of a rainstorm when she summoned too many happy rainbows.

* * *

_**Sean** _

Sean was exceptionally cautious of Erik. It was December of 1964, and he was not certain he trusted him any more than he did when he first arrived back at the mansion the previous year, in July. Well... If he was being honest with himself, _maybe_ he trusted him a little bit more. The way Erik had organized Charles’ rescue from that government torture hellhole had gone some ways to helping build up some of what was lost, and the way Erik was with the students and with his own kids helped a bit, too. It still stung, though, like a wound that had scarred over, but still smarted when you moved the wrong way.

Sean rubbed his hands over his face and leaned back against the sofa, yawning. The living room was pitch-black, save for the dim glow coming from the fire he had lit a while ago. The dying embers were still bright enough to illuminate the grand Christmas tree for him, and he had been staring at the great pine with the gifts haphazardly stacked underneath for the better part of an hour, just thinking. He rubbed absently at the small scars on his neck, a harsh reminder of what _trust_ got you, what _believing_ in someone eventually led to-

“Hello,” Erik’s deep voice, low and hushed in deference to the darkness, interrupted Sean’s thoughts. Sean wanted to pout like a child and push himself further into the cushions, but he refrained. Erik certainly was, however, the last person he wanted to see at that particular moment, and so Sean remained silent. Erik sat cautiously on the sofa next to Sean, albeit perched on the very edge. “Charles told me you were thinking particularly loudly.”

 _Traitor_ , Sean hissed in his mind, broadcasting in Charles’ direction as well as he had been taught to. Charles, wisely, did not respond. Sean sighed, both in his mind and out loud.

“I just can’t sleep,” Sean lied. “You can go back to bed, don’t worry about it.”

“He said you were thinking about me,” Erik continued. “In particular.”

 _You are the Benedict Arnold of this household,_ Sean said angrily in Charles’ direction. Charles simply sent back a wave of calm that Sean involuntarily relaxed into.

“I understand if you haven’t forgiven me,” Erik barreled on, looking especially uncomfortable. _Good,_ Sean thought bitterly. Another rush of calm pulsed through his mind. He rolled his eyes at both of them. “What I… What I did was unforgivable. And, I know you act like you’ve forgiven me, but we’ve never… actually discussed it.”

“We don’t have to discuss it,” Sean said hurriedly. “We can just… _not_ discuss it, and say we did.”

Erik smiled wryly at him before tapping his own temple. “I’m afraid that won’t work out well in our favor. Besides, I’d rather one of my… any of the children here weren’t angry at me. Even if I do completely understand why.”

“You left us,” Sean spat, folding his arms across his chest and feeling more like a petulant five-year-old than a supposedly mature twenty-five-year-old. “I don’t understand how everyone else can just _forgive_ you. I’m just waiting for you to leave again.”

“I’ve been back for a year and a half,” Erik reminded him. “If I was going to leave, wouldn’t I have left by now?”

“I thought you were going to stay last time, too,” Sean said darkly. “I’m sure you remember what I told you when you came back. I thought… Well, I mean, it doesn’t really matter anymore. But I thought you were like a dad to me.” Sean took a deep breath, steadying himself. “My dad died, and when you guys found me, I really had no one. And then… Shit, man, and then you guys just swooped right in and saved the day. Built me a family right then and there. And then you-” and Sean pointed an accusing finger at Erik, “-you let me fall into the whole thing, making you guys my brothers and sisters. Then you left. The man I idolized, made into this father figure for myself, he just… tore my family in half. Took two of my sisters, and left the rest of us to pick up the pieces like it was nothing.” Sean’s hand fell into his lap, his fingers twitching before he let the hand fly into his hair, rubbing at his scalp in frustration. He stared at the fire. “It wasn’t just Charles you left broken, you know.

“It was me. And it was Hank, and it was Moira, and it was Alex. I know you two have your differences, but what the actual _fuck_ , Erik?” Sean nearly shouted, gathering up steam now, feeling everything he had been letting build up start to blow out of him all at once. “I _trusted_ you, and you tore it all apart. You shot the Professor in the _back_. Usually you hear about people stabbing their friends in the back, but you’ve always been rather creative when it comes to using your powers, I suppose.

“And then, you’re gone for, what, I don’t even know, almost a year, after doing God _knows_ what. And you just- you come _sweeping_ back into our lives, and I’m suddenly told that you’re gonna stay here again. And I’m supposed to just _trust_ you, while I’m asleep, while I’m vulnerable.”

Erik remained silent after Sean stopped talking, waiting to see if he had finished, for him to catch his breath. “They don’t all trust me.”

Sean turned his head to look at Erik. “What?”

“They don’t all trust me,” Erik repeated patiently. He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa. “Charles- I still catch it, sometimes. In the way he looks at me, or, in my head, I can still feel him, keeping track of me. Hank keeps an eye on me whenever he can. Alex follows me around and stays just out of sight when I’m with one of the children. I can feel Moira’s gun, and she’s always got it on her.” Erik ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do to fix this.”

“You can’t fix this,” Sean said bluntly. “There’s _nothing_ you can do. We’ll always be just a little bit afraid, Erik, because people don’t change. What makes them _them_ , that never changes. And you wouldn’t be you if we weren’t all just that little bit afraid of you.” Sean stood from the sofa. “Is that all?”

“No,” Erik said, dragging his eyes from the Christmas tree to look up at Sean. “I’m not going to leave you again.”

“Same canary, same song,” Sean said, somewhat forcefully cavalier, and slightly mocking. “I’m not going to listen to you repeat yourself, Erik.”

“Then don’t.” Erik motioned to the sofa. “Sit down.” At Sean’s sharp look, Erik withdrew his hand, placing it in his lap. “Please.”

Sean did not roll his eyes and sigh as he took his seat again, but it was a near thing. Erik folded his hands together against his thighs and stared at the fire. Sean relaxed back against the cushions, but he knew Erik could feel the tension in every line of his body, try as he did to hide it from him.

“I understand,” Erik began again, slowly, “why you’re angry. I regret… that you’ve spent this much time hating me about it, but-”

“Whoah, whoah,” Sean interrupted, waving his hands in the air, sitting up. “Hold up. Who said I hate you?”

Erik’s brow furrowed, and Sean felt a tiny jolt of pride and slightly twisted pleasure at getting such an emotion as confusion to pass across the great Magneto’s face. “Well, don’t you?”

“Erik,” Sean sighed, his elbow pressing into his thigh, his head falling into his hand, his fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose, “I don’t _hate_ you.”

“Why not? I thought… Well, you know what I thought.”

Sean raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought I knew, but I might not. I don’t hate you, Erik. I’m… so, _so_ angry at you, yeah, but I don’t think I could hate you if I wanted to. And, believe me, I’ve definitely tried to hate you.”

“But you don’t,” Erik repeated, slowly. “Even though you wanted to.”

“See, the thing is, I know, logically, that my own parents didn’t leave me,” Sean said, seemingly pulling thoughts out of nowhere. “They died. But, I always felt like they just left me here to fend for myself. And I was so _angry_ , but I couldn’t hate them for it. And it was like that with you, too, I suppose.” Sean paused, looking Erik over briefly. “It was like you died.”

“I’m still alive,” Erik said, stupidly. Sean _did_ roll his eyes that time. “I am. I’m still here.”

“Give me some time,” Sean said, standing from the sofa again. He felt Erik’s eyes trail over his stupid nightgown that old men wear, but Sean happened to like it, _thank_ you very much, and it made him feel like the hero of a Dickensian novel. Plus, it made Moira laugh, and Raven had helped him sew the inner pieces of the gigantic sleeves to the body of the nightgown, in case he ever needed to flee the house in the dead of night for some reason. It made him feel comfortable. “I’m sure I’ll come back around to your side again.”

“It’s been a year and a half.”

Sean snorted. “This kind of thing doesn’t have a timetable, my friend. Just let it go.”

Sean left Erik sitting there on the sofa, barely throwing a “Goodnight” over his shoulder as he left. He padded down the chilly hallways to his room, using the moonlight to step over strewn clothes and curled carpet edges until he reached his bed. The door shut behind him of its own accord, and Sean could not help but smile to himself, his face turned into his pillow.

* * *

_**Jean** _

Jean finally spoke, out loud, for the first time, in April of 1966. She said the words not too long after Bobby Drake arrived and it was, surprisingly, Bobby Drake that she said her first words to. Her words were in reference to Sean and Moira’s newborn daughter, Theresa.

“What do you think of Theresa, Jeanie?” Bobby asked absently, laying on his back, tossing a ball in the air and catching it, over and over again, while Jean sat beside him in the grass and watched. Jean had never been partial to Bobby’s mind; for all his warmth and friendliness, his mind resembled his mutation, and was very nearly cold to the mental touch. It made her feel uncomfortable, and so she chose to speak aloud when directly addressed by him.

“She’s very pretty,” Jean said, not at all surprised by the sound of her own voice, “but she’s very loud. She’s going to be like Mr. Cassidy.”

Bobby caught the baseball one last time and turned to look at Jean, one eyebrow raised. His cheek crushed the grass under it. “I thought they said you didn’t talk.”

“I can talk,” Jean informed him, pulling a blade of grass out of the ground and pulling it apart with her chubby child’s hands. “I just don’t like to. It’s easier to use my head.”

“Easier for you, maybe,” Bobby laughed, resuming his throw-and-catch game. “It’s not easier for the rest of us. You think in pictures and feelings.”

Jean’s brow creased. “I thought I thought in words.”

“Not to the rest of us,” Bobby assured her. He looked over at her, frowning, the ball held tight in one hand. “It’s not a bad thing, Jeanie, don’t get me wrong. It’s just confusing sometimes.”

Jean opened her mouth to speak again when Scott came rushing over, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. He came to a stop right beside Jean, his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

“Did you- just talk?” Scott asked breathlessly. Jean hesitated.

“Yes,” Jean finally said. Scott fell onto his knees and wrapped his arms around her. Jean, shocked, slowly wrapped her arms around him return.

“Your voice is really pretty,” Scott murmured near her ear. Jean pat him on the back.

“Thank you,” Jean replied. Scott was suddenly lifted away from her, seemingly soaring right into the air. Jean hurried to her feet, only to realize that Scott’s kidnapper was, in reality, just Alex.

“Is everything alright?” Alex asked, looking Scott over before turning his attention down to Jean. “You okay, kiddo?”

“Yes,” Jean answered, and Alex nearly dropped his brother.

“Holy shit,” Alex breathed. He turned back towards the mansion. “Professor! Get out here!”

Jean let the other adults and kids fawn over her, but she still liked what Scott said best, even if Sean had laughed when she repeated what she had said to Bobby, even if Charles had hugged her close, even if Erik had clapped her on the shoulder. Scott smiled at her when they were eating dinner that night, and she said, “Pass the salt,” real politely, like Charles taught them to, and Scott positively beamed at her, and she felt herself beaming right back.

* * *

_**Warren** _

As a rule, Warren did not let anyone get close to him. Ever since his dad had burst through the bathroom door and found him cutting his wings off, and still had not changed his mind about mutants, he realized it would do him no good to get close to anyone. If his own father could not be trusted… Well. Then, well, who _could_ be trusted?

As it turned out, bad things happening to you did not make the whole world bad. Logan and Pietro taught him that during a defense training exercise one slightly chilly September day in 1967. Pietro was racing around him in circles, bulky for an eight-year-old - though Warren just assumed it was all the running that threw muscle on the kid like bacon in a skillet. Logan did not have his claws extended, but he was quick enough without them, reaching out and grabbing Pietro seemingly out of thin air.

“Just confusing your enemy isn’t going to be good enough, kid,” Logan said, setting the kid back on his feet. He looked back up at Warren. “You got any ideas for escape?”

Warren raised an eyebrow at him before he untied the harness that Charles had made for him. He let his wings uncurl from where they had been pressed against his back, enjoying the sensation of stretching a sleeping limb.

“I’ll fly away,” Warren said, moving to do just that, but, before he got more than five feet off the ground, Logan caught his ankle and dragged him back down.

“Good thinking, birdbrains,” Logan teased gruffly, releasing Warren so the boy could land on his feet, “until someone just grabs you like that. Then what?”

“Then I guess I’m screwed,” Warren said bluntly. “All I’ve got is my wings.”

“That’s not all you’ve got,” Pietro argued. He put his hands on his hips, and was, shockingly, not running in circles. For once. “You’ve got your _team_ , Warren. You’ve got us.”

“That’s not an effective strategy, Pietro,” Warren disagreed, but Logan shook his head.

“Kid’s got a point,” Logan said. At Warren’s blank look, Logan continued. “You’re not here so you can just split afterwards and go die by yourself. You’re here to learn how to protect yourselves and be part of a team. Mutants gotta stick together, boy.”

“You’re an X-Man,” Pietro added. “We all are. We’re a team, like Mr. Logan said.”

When Warren still didn’t speak, Logan just stepped back. “Alright, show me what you’ll do as a team.”

Pietro immediately resumed his circles, sprinting around Logan at a frankly alarming pace. “Go, Warren! Fly!”

Warren did as Pietro instructed, his tremendous wings taking him off the ground. Pietro jumped through the air like a shot from a cannon, all his momentum sending him hurtling towards the air until he grabbed onto Warren’s ankle. He stuck his tongue out at Logan below them.

“Get back down here!” Logan shouted after them, but Pietro just scaled Warren’s body until he was clinging to his back, and Warren laughed, feeling the warmest he had felt in months, despite the chilly air the higher up he went.

* * *

_**Scott** _

In 1973, when Scott turned fifteen, Charles found Gabriel. He still remembered that day; Alex had dragged him downstairs in a hurry, completely ignoring Scott’s protests of, “Hey, _shithead_ , I was _doing_ something-” in favor of hauling him down to the living room. They both skid to a halt at the young boy standing in the doorway.

“Gabe?” Scott said, slowly. Gabriel looked at his brothers in something resembling confusion before realization dawned. Scott had only known Gabriel for a short while, when Gabriel was a baby, and Scott did not think Alex had ever seen him, but they both knew he was out there, somewhere, the last piece of their family since their parents had died. Gabriel took a hesitant step forward, then hurtled towards them, colliding with his two older brothers with all the strength of a seven-year-old. Scott was dimly aware that Gabriel was crying.

“I knew you guys were somewhere,” Gabriel hiccupped into Scott’s chest, one of his arms wrapped around Scott while the other one was tight around Alex. “But when Lucy said she had a special school for me, I didn’t think- I didn’t _know_ -”

“It’s alright, man,” Alex said, his voice more soothing and calm than Scott had heard it be in a while. “It’s alright.”

Gabriel took a step back, and Scott fought to keep himself from reaching out for his brother again. He looked Scott and Alex over, and Scott squirmed slightly, feeling a bit like one of Hank’s specimens under a microscope.

“Alex,” Gabriel said, pointing at their older brother. Alex nodded. Gabriel pointed at Scott. “And Scott.”

Scott pointed at his younger brother, and said, “Gabriel.”

Gabriel grinned widely, and he looked just like their father. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s me.”

Alex ran a hand through his hair, looking his youngest brother over. “Do you do- What I mean is, are you like us?”

“A mutant?” Gabriel asked, his voice hushed. Scott self-consciously fiddled with the frames of his sunglasses. Alex nodded in confirmation. “Yeah, I am. I shoot lasers and stuff. There’s a lot of… energy inside of me. I can fly sometimes, and I-”

“You can _fly_?!” Scott interrupted, unable to help himself. Gabriel just smiled.

“Yeah, I can do all kinds of stuff,” Gabriel said. Alex laughed.

“Looks like it just got cooler with each kid,” Alex commented. Scott was torn between wanting to smack him and wanting to thank him. Alex held out a hand and, after a moment of hesitation, Gabriel shook it. “Welcome home.”

Gabriel’s face crumpled, just a bit, but he kept on smiling through his happy tears. “Thanks. I missed you guys.”

Scott elbowed Alex, cutting off the inevitable _“But you didn’t know me,”_ and stepped forward, holding his arms open. Gabriel fell into his arms gladly.

“Tell us about you. What’re you like?” Scott asked, and Gabriel withdrew, reaching into the knapsack on his back and pulling out a thick book. He handed it to Scott.

“I love mythology,” Gabriel said excitedly. Scott flipped through the book.

“You’ll get along real well with Kurt, he’s crazy for religions and mythologies and stuff,” Scott informed him absently as he came to a page that was bookmarked. “Who’s this guy?”

“Vulcan,” Gabriel informed him, looking over at the back, even though it was upside-down from his point of view. “He’s the coolest.”

“Rad,” Scott replied, shutting the book and handing it over. “We’ll show you your room.”

Gabriel agreed, shoving the book back into his knapsack and letting Alex and Scott lead him to his room. Scott heard Charles laugh in the front room when Gabriel exclaimed “You shoot lasers from your _eyes_?!”, but did not begrudge him his humor.

* * *

_**Wanda** _

Wanda and Pietro turned eighteen in February of 1977. On their birthday, Wanda told her father and her brother that she did not want to stay at the school, not _really_. Pietro’s face had fallen, but Erik sat her down at the dining room table. The children around them scattered, realizing Erik’s _go away_ face, but Pietro and Charles remained. Wanda could have sworn Scott locked the door behind him.

“I’m eighteen, too, and you don’t see me running straight off,” Pietro said, his gentle voice soft and sad. Wanda was torn between wanting to hug him and wanting to punch him in the face. Charles smiled, despite himself.

“Where do you want to go?” Erik asked, taking one of his daughter’s hands in both of his own. Wanda kept her attention on their hands.

“Not too far,” she said, slowly. “New York City.”

“New York City?” Erik repeated, clearly confused, just as Pietro stood up from the table, nearly knocking his chair over as he did so.

“You’re going to them,” Pietro said, suddenly realizing exactly where she was going and why she was going there. Charles inhaled sharply.

“Oh, dear,” Charles said softly. Erik turned to look at him before returning his focus to Pietro and Wanda.

“‘Them’ who?” Erik demanded. Wanda scrubbed her free hand over his face.

“Pietro and I got letters,” Wanda informed him, “asking us to join the Avengers.”

“The Avengers,” Erik repeated, slowly. “You mean that merry band of city-destroying misfits that Captain America leads?”

“No- Well, yes,” Wanda amended, “but that’s not what they’re about. They’re more than that, and I- I feel like I should go with them. I _want_ to go with them.”

“Wanda,” Pietro spoke up, and Wanda’s eyes flew to him. “If you’re going, so am I. We’ve got to stick together.”

Wanda swallowed thickly and nodded, tears budding in her eyes. She would argue, but she knew Pietro would do whatever he wanted regardless, and they never left each other’s sides. She would have stayed at the school if she believed Pietro would be truly unhappy with the Avengers, but, as much as she loved the school and everyone in it, she knew where she belonged at the moment.

“New York City really isn’t too far from here,” Charles reasoned, clearly pulling something from Erik’s mind that Wanda could not read on his face. “And they’ll be perfectly safe. Like you said, that Captain America chap leads them. I’ve heard Steve Rogers is truly a very charming fellow, and I’ve known Tony for ages-”

“You’ll be careful?” Erik interrupted, cutting Charles off with his question directed to the twins. Charles frowned slightly, but even Wanda could tell he was not truly angry. Wanda squeezed her father’s hand.

“We won’t do anything you wouldn’t do,” Wanda promised, and now it was Erik’s turn to frown. Pietro laughed.

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Erik grumbled. He looked over his two children before standing. “Look after each other. If anything happens to either of you, I’ll pull that Iron Man apart until he’s nothing but bolts and scrap metal.”

Knowing it was the best they were going to get, Wanda stood, as well, and wrapped her arms around her father.

“You’re still my favorite,” Wanda whispered against her father’s neck, smiling against his skin. Erik sighed and returned her embrace.

“I know,” he teased. Pietro came around the table and hugged his father, as well, once Wanda pulled away. Wanda moved away from them to crouch and hug Charles.

“You’re my favorite, too, Dad,” Wanda said softly. Charles held her close.

“Be safe,” Charles replied, his voice gentle. He shook Pietro’s hand, then accepted his tight hug. “I’ll always be keeping an eye on you.”

* * *

_**Pietro** _

As it turned out, the next time Pietro saw Erik and Charles, they were fighting Legion. Charles had shown up at the fight that the Avengers had assured him they were handling, but Charles had sent a wave of such pure _anguish_ into all their minds that they had left him to his work. Erik stood at Charles’ side, unwavering, and Pietro and Wanda came to stand on either side of the pair.

“Who is he?” Pietro asked softly. Erik did not turn to him.

“He is Charles’ son, from a long time ago,” Erik informed him. “Charles didn’t know. His name’s David Haller. He’s… very strong-”

“Of course he is,” Wanda snorted. “You’ve met his _father_.”

“I have,” Erik said drily, but his normal sense of humor fell rather flat with the blank undertone of his voice. “Something’s wrong in the boy’s mind. He’s not well.”

“You’re telling me,” Wanda muttered, sending out a spiraling pulse of energy that sent Legion shooting back quite a ways. Charles shut his eyes, his hands still clutching at his armrests. He had long since taught himself to use his powers without utilizing his particular habit of touching his fingertips to his temple.

Pietro watched the distressed look cross Charles’ face before he looked back up at Legion. “Wanda,” Pietro said, and needed not say any more as his sister immediately caught on. Pietro backed up a few steps, then sprinted forwards. He took a flying leap into the air, and Wanda helped him as best as she could, sending him soaring. He collided with Legion, wrapping his arms and legs around him and dragging him to the ground with him. Legion landed on top of him, knocking the breath out of him, but it was enough for Alex and Scott to grab each of the man’s shoulders and haul him to his feet.

“He’s dangerous,” Charles warned from afar, quickly wheeling his way closer. “Be very careful with him.”

“I’m holding onto him,” Erik assured him, but Pietro felt less than comforted. Hawkeye - whatever the fuck his name was, Clint or Clive or something, he never actually saw the man who so often hid in the vents and on the roofs - hauled Pietro to his feet, clapping him on the back.

“Good work, Quicksilver,” Clint or Clive or Hawkeye or whatever complimented, and Pietro nodded curtly. Erik came up beside him, rigid tension in every line of his body.

“Quicksilver, huh?” Erik asked. Pietro nodded, and Erik nodded in response. “It suits you.”

“Danke, Vater,” Pietro replied, and the barest of smiles pulled at the corner of Erik’s lips. It disappeared when Legion hit the ground, clearly knocked unconscious by a guilty- and pained-looking Charles, but Erik still gripped his son’s shoulder and squeezed it briefly before returning to the ending fight.

* * *

_**Kurt** _

Kurt was a quiet, angry man. For the majority of his life, he assumed he had gotten it from his father; once he became an adult, however, and his mother stopped holding herself back from him, his perceptions were irrevocably altered. His quiet, calm disposition was not inherited, though Raven often joked that he took after Hank and Charles in that regard. The rage boiling just under the surface, it seemed, had been inherited from Raven, after all.

He was angry, always. Even when he was relaxed, calm, happy, as he often was; even then, a part of him was devoted to his anger. He felt righteous; he felt as though it was his duty as a mutant to defend his kind and their rights. It was likely these feelings that led him to his decision to assassinate the President.

Of course, when Kurt got an idea, he had something of a one-track mind until he saw that idea through to the end, to its fulfillment. This often meant that he forgot he lived with the two strongest telepaths in the continent - quite possibly in the _world_. He was forced to remember this all-important fact when he was tying his ribbon tag around the handle of the knife. The door to his bedroom crashed open with no warning, and he jumped, his hands slipping on the knot. The knife clattered down to the desk; his head snapped around to the doorway.

“Kurt,” Charles said softly. Jean stood just behind him, her hands on the handles of his wheelchair, both of them still in their nightclothes due to the early hour. “This isn’t the way. You _know_ this isn’t the way.”

“Then what way do you suggest, Uncle?” Kurt asked rhetorically. His voice did not raise, his soft, gentle demeanor never abandoning him. He stood from his desk chair, and his tail whipped through the air. “What options are left?”

“Plenty,” Charles said, firmly. “Murder is never an option. Killing President Reagan will not bring you peace, nor will it help our cause. If it does anything, it will hinder us.”

Jean stepped around Charles into the room, impatience flickering across her face. She hefted Kurt’s knife in one hand, as though she was testing its weight. Without taking her eyes off the knife, she said, “This is a fine weapon. Where are you planning on stabbing him?”

“The heart.”

Jean whistled in the same way Logan often did. “Poetic. And it would kill him right away?”

“Yes, that was the-”

“No, wrong,” Jean interrupted, still studying the knife. “It would have been yanked out of him and thrown aside. When it finally got bagged and tagged, your little message here would’ve been trampled beyond recognition.” Jean paused, thoughtfully. “I suppose you could bring Mr. Lehnsherr,” Jean continued. “He could empty a gun in the President in seconds, and then you could stick your poetic knife in his heart, in his back, in wherever. You could bring me, and the Professor. We could freeze everyone in place while you committed your murder. Oh, we could probably bring Rogue, as well, she’d be helpful. Kitty, too, and maybe Theresa, they’d all be-”

“Enough,” Kurt finally said, his tail ripping at the empty air the only show of his increasing anger. “That’s enough. I did not think to-”

“Exactly,” Jean said, cutting him off. “You didn’t think this through. This is the exact opposite of-”

“At least I’m doing _something_ -”

“Oh, and we’re doing nothing, I see how-”

“You’re not doing _enough_ -”

“Quiet,” Charles said, hardly raising his voice. It resonated regardless. “Both of you, that is enough.” Charles turned to Jean. “Jean, wait outside, please.”

“But, Professor-”

“Jean,” Charles repeated, his tone telling Jean more than enough. Jean slipped out of the room, leaving the knife behind on Kurt’s desk and shutting the door behind her. Charles leveled his disappointed look at Kurt. “I thought you were raised better than this, Kurt.”

“I was raised to fight for my cause,” Kurt shot back. “For my people- Uncle, for _our_ people.”

“This is not the way to fight for our cause,” Charles said. Kurt sat down in his desk chair again. “I can get you on the circuit with Jean. We can put you on the streets, handing out flyers, giving speeches. Anything. This isn’t the way.”

Kurt gripped his hair, tugging at it in frustration. “I’m just so _angry_ , Uncle.”

“I understand,” Charles said gently, wheeling up beside Kurt. He laid a hand on Kurt’s upper arm, and Kurt lowered his arms from his head, releasing his hair. “I’m angry, as well. I’m always angry, but it won’t help to act rashly.”

Kurt looked at Charles in silence for a moment before he lifted his knife carefully off his desk and passed it over to his uncle. Charles took it quietly.

“Hold onto that for me,” Kurt murmured. Charles reached out and pulled Kurt close, kissing his nephew’s forehead. Kurt’s tail flicked. “I’m sorry, Uncle. It’s just- I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m being controlled by a force that’s larger than me.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Charles assured him, cautiously. He laid the knife in his lap, clearly making mental notes or speaking to someone in his head. “I’ll put you on a circuit. You’re old enough.”

“Thank you,” Kurt whispered. Charles smiled at him and left without another word, dragging Jean with him before she could bother Kurt. Kurt got up and shut the door behind him. He lifted the ribbon off his desk and tied it to his bedpost.

_Mutant Freedom Now._

* * *

**_Emma_ **

“Charles Xavier,” Emma greeted. “I haven’t seen you in- God, how long _has_ it been?”

“Not long enough,” Charles said, his voice just as polite as he accepted the kiss she pressed to his cheek. “It’s only another decade until the new millenium. Did you ever think?”

“Certainly not for us,” Emma replied. She moved out of the doorway to her home, swanning inside and motioning for Charles to follow her. He wheeled along after her, flicking the door shut behind him. Emma led him into her kitchen. “Not that I don’t love to see you, but to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Myself and Jean have been compromised,” Charles informed her with no further adieu. “We need a telepath. We’re having difficulty with Legion again.”

“Ahh, yes,” Emma murmured, taking a seat at her island. “David Haller. I’ve heard you’re close.”

“You could say that,” Charles replied cryptically. Emma sighed and simply dove into Charles’ mind. It felt as familiar as if she had seen him yesterday.

 _Charles, darling, you needn’t be a stranger,_ Emma whispered into his mind. Charles nearly smiled.

_All we ask is your help with our minds. We need to take down Legion._

_Surely I could take him down._

_Surely you could, but I’m not to entrust you with that._

Emma pursed her lips and looked Charles over. She tapped the side of her head. “I like your new look.”

“It’s not exactly new,” Charles replied, running his hand over his bald head. “I’ve been told by a close personal friend that it’s a side effect of my powers.”

“That’s a damn shame,” Emma sighed. “You had beautiful hair.”

“I’d rather have my mind,” Charles replied tiredly. “Emma, if you’d please, I really must-”

“Of _course_ , sugar,” Emma purred. She saw Charles hold himself back from flinching. “I’m always happy to help. Remember, you and your X-Men can always come to me for help.”

Charles refrained from flinching again when Emma laid her chilly fingers against his temples.

“Thank you,” Charles said. “I’ll remember.”

* * *

_**Logan** _

Logan was startled awake by a chorus of high children’s voices shrieking “Happy New Year!” dangerously close to his ear. He jumped up, discovering Nathan on his toes by the window, peering out over the grounds.

“Mr. Logan,” Nathan whispered, and Logan dragged himself over to the window to look out with him. “Uncle Alex said the world would end when it turned 2000.”

“Uncle Alex likes screwing your loops, kid, you know that.” Logan leaned against the wall as Hisako and Ruth attempted to scale him as though he was a climbing frame or a particularly muscular tree. “I wouldn’t recommend listening to anything he tells you. The world’s not going to end anytime soon, and it’s definitely not going to end because the year changed. Time’s an invention of man, kid. Nature doesn’t care.”

“Oh,” Nathan said thoughtfully. “Okay. Thanks, Mr. Logan!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan grumbled as Nathan took off towards the sofa and floor, both of which were crawling with children, in front of the television. Hisako remained clinging to Logan’s neck, though Ruth had already grown bored and wandered off. The ball had dropped only about a minute ago, and still the children that had insisted on staying up to see the new year were dropping like flies. Logan moved around the fallen bodies, lifting them up like they were nothing and dropping them on their sleeping bags. Most of them did not stir, already used to the gruff man.

“You’re a regular Mary Poppins,” Erik said drily from the doorway. Logan barely spared him a glance as he continued moving, throwing the children who were awake onto the sofa to keep them from stepping on the sleeping children. Hisako finally slid down off Logan’s back, landing lightly on her feet before diving onto the sofa.

“You gonna stand there, or are you gonna help?” Logan asked, catching Rose again and setting her down on the couch. Erik moved into the room, grabbing three kids by their belts with his power and floating them into the air, much to their delight. He dropped them onto random sleeping bags, but Logan had stopped caring about fifty seconds ago. “What did you want anyways, old man?”

“You call me ‘old man’, but I’m fairly certain you’re much older than I am,” Erik replied. Logan shrugged.

“It’s nothing you can prove,” Logan said. Erik raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well, happy New Year’s,” Erik finally said. Logan nodded to him once.

“Same to you,” Logan replied. When Erik turned around, Logan raised one hand, his center claw on his left hand sliding out to flip him off.

“I felt that,” Erik threw over his shoulder. Logan rolled his eyes and ignored the cat the licked at his claw.

* * *

**_Hank_ **

“Hank, it’s great to see you,” Charles greeted, accepting the hand Hank extended to him, shaking it firmly. “I feel like we don’t see each other nearly enough.”

“I feel the same way,” Hank laughed. He squeezed Charles’ hand before releasing it. “What’s the plan today?”

“Well, seeing as how we have the Secretary of Mutant Affairs in our midst, it only seems fitting we put him to work.” Charles motioned for Hank to follow him, and follow he did, through the halls to a bedroom that had been converted into a classroom since Hank last lived in the school. A plethora of students was shoved into the classroom, some students sitting in each other’s laps to make room.

“I’m lecturing?” Hank asked, pausing in the doorway to look over the children before him. Charles smiled at him.

“You’re educating them on mutant affairs,” Charles amended. “Don’t think of it as a lecture. Lectures are dreadful, and the children find them painfully boring.”

“If only they’d been declared “painfully boring” when I was still here,” Hank joked. He picked his way through the crowd of children to the front of the room where a metal podium stood. Charles maneuvered himself to the back of the room to observe as Hank spoke. Hank found himself completely in his element when he got to talk about his passion, about mutant rights and affairs, and his job; he got himself fired up, words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could think them. When he finished, catching his breath slightly, he realized the room was more packed than it was when he began. The occupants of the room broke into applause, and Hank grinned at them.

“It looks like the whole school’s in here,” he shouted over the noise to Raven, who was leaning against the wall behind him. She smiled.

“It just might be,” she called back. Hank took a dramatic bow, and allowed the children to swarm him, talking over each other, asking question after question. He arranged them in some semblance of a line, accepting each question or comment as it came. When he looked up, Charles was beaming happily at him, looking for all the world like a child who was watching his dream come true. Hank smiled back.

* * *

_**Erik** _

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Erik asked. It was probably the eighteenth time he had asked the question in the past half hour. “Raven may just kill us both.”

“Let her,” Charles replied sunnily, wheeling himself down the sidewalk beside Erik. “We’ve waited long enough. We’ve waited since the 60s, you’ll recall, and then we waited _after_ it was legalized, because it was so hectic, and then we waited even longer after _that_ because-”

“I understand, Charles, calm down,” Erik laughed.

“We’ll let Raven do whatever she wants when we get home,” Charles allowed, “regardless of whether that is castrating us or throwing a ridiculous wedding in our backyard. This is just for _us_.”

“Understood,” Erik confirmed, jokingly serious. Charles sent him a mental nudge, too occupied with navigating the crowds in his wheelchair to punch him on the arm like he wanted to.

“Do you have everything?” Charles asked, his tone just slightly nervous. Erik paused, ducking off to the side of the sidewalk. Charles stopped beside him, leaving the people around them to figure out a way past them. Surely New Yorkers were not _that_ daft, Erik reassured himself. Erik pulled his satchel around to his front and opened the zipper without touching it, ignoring Charles’ mumbled “Show off,” except for a smile.

“Marriage license, confirmation number, twenty-five dollars, the wine, the rings, the cloth, the glass,” Erik listed off, sliding the materials around his satchel as he did so, making sure he had everything. “I think we’ve got everything, Charles. What we don’t have we can always have at the ceremony Raven will inevitably insist we have.”

“I feel far too old for something like that,” Charles groaned dramatically. Erik barely raised a hand, and yet Charles’ wheelchair began rolling forward, seemingly of its own accord, Erik right beside him.

“It doesn’t matter how you feel when it comes to Raven,” Erik reminded him. Charles nodded and smiled.

“You’re quite right, my friend,” Charles agreed, leaning back in his chair, relaxing his arms and his hands, content to let Erik do the work as they made their way to City Hall. When they reached the grand steps in front of the City Hall that led inside, they both paused.

“And you’re quite sure you want to do this?” Erik asked, yet again. Charles reached out and took Erik’s hand, pressing his lips to the back of it.

“The way I see it,” Charles began, his expression just short of beaming, “you have three options. Option one is, you go through with this, and we live happily ever after, like in a fairy-tale book. Option two is, you kidnap me, and we run away together, and avoid Raven’s wrath, but never get to go home again. Option three is, you realize what you’re doing, and you turn around and run away.”

Erik paused. “I’ll take the first option,” Erik finally said, after a moment of overly dramatic consideration. Charles rapped at his hand playfully before kissing it again and releasing it.

“I love you,” Charles promised, “and I’m already yours. Everything else is just details.”

“I love you, too,” Erik replied easily. He leaned down and pressed his lips against Charles’, and Charles slid his free hand up, pressing his fingertips against Erik’s temple, sending him short images of their life together. Erik smiled against his lips, and Charles returned the smile in kind.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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